Fate's Fair Hand
by TheOneWhoDoesn'tSpeak
Summary: Arthur Kirkland should have been Queen of Spades but a twist of fate led him down a different path. A quiet life...at least until he met the whirlwind that was Alfred F. Jones. Prince and peasant grow apart and together, discovering what it is to love, to take risks, to be fair. But with a kingdom in growing revolt and a dark plot unravelling, will fate be fair to them? Cardverse!
1. Prologue

**Fate's Fair Hand**

 **Summary:** Arthur Kirkland should have been Queen of Spades but a twist of fate led him down a different path. A quiet life...at least until he met the whirlwind that was Alfred F. Jones. Prince and peasant grow apart and together, discovering what it is to love, to take risks, to be fair. But with a kingdom in growing revolt and a dark plot unravelling, will fate be fair to them? Cardverse!

* * *

 **Chapter Song: Someday Soon** \- Doves ( watch?v=ZS_I-D1WnA0 )

* * *

 **Prologue**

Yao, the Jack of Spades, was interrupted from the letter he was writing by the doors of the study swinging open on their hinges and an excited young boy running in, his cheeks pink from what had no doubt been a long session of tearing about the palace. During the restless winter months the child could often be found doing this; always where he shouldn't be despite anyone's attempts at entertaining him with quiet play. He never became subdued in the winter the way other children did, but his bright energy burned on through. In fact, the young boy never seemed to tire at all.

"Your Highness!-" Yao stood quickly from the desk and looked questioningly at the young prince now standing before him, out of breath and grinning from ear to ear.

A dishevelled looking maid now appeared in the doorway, "Alfre- Your Highness!" she avoided using the informal term in the presence of the Jack, "I'm sure the Jack has plenty to do at the moment without us intruding!"

Yao held up a hand, signalling to the maid that he wasn't particularly bothered and would deal with the situation from there. The subtle movement also acted as a rather short dismissal to the rattled nurse maid.

She straightened up, rearranging her blouse and glancing at the young boy once more, "Don't you go causing any trouble now." her tone was only lightly chiding, filled with more affection than anything else.

Nodding shortly to the Jack - more of a bow of the head really - she left the room, closing the ornate study doors soundlessly behind her.

"Now, your Highness, what is it you wanted so urgently to see me about?" Yao put his pen down beside the unfinished letter (hardly begun was probably a more accurate term).

The young boy's face broke out into a grin as he placed a small jar onto the desk triumphantly,  
"Look!" He breathed excitedly, peering into the glass himself with a smile plastered on his face.

Yao decided to humour the young prince and bent down a little until he was at eye-level with the jar. Inside was a butterfly, batting its wings softly, but otherwise fairly still. Its feathery wings were shimmering iridescently like the silk skirts you saw twirling around at one of the Diamond Kingdoms infamous balls. But it was the colour that was so striking; such a vivid blue. A blue monarch butterfly in this season was rare indeed.

"It isn't wise for you to be playing out in the gardens this close to winter," was all Yao had to say about it, sniffing and straightening up, "you'll catch a cold."  
The prince either didn't hear or didn't register the chastising he had received.

"When I'm bigger I'm going to be just like this butterfly!" He grinned, announcing it as if it were a matter he'd thought about for some time.

"You can't be a butterfly when your older, your Highness, you are to be the king, or have you already forgotten?" The Jack was lightly amused but his underlying tone remained serious as he explained this to the young prince.

"No," Alfred's smile faltered a little, "but I don't see why I can't be the butterfly too!"

Yao frowned.

"Well-" the prince continued, "I could fly up high in all those trees and see everything in the whole kingdom - the whole world! And everyone would smile at me when I flew past and the ladies would curtsey and the men would tip their hats and say 'hello, your highness!'... Doesn't that sound fun?"

Alfred seemed momentarily lost in this daydream as he watched the butterfly in its glass prison, the bright blue of its wings reflecting upon his flushed cheeks the way seawater reflects upon the rocks, a little smile playing on the boy's mouth.

The Jack rested a hand on his shoulder and patted it awkwardly. It was not unusual for children to have strange fancies like this sometimes, he supposed. Thinking of it now though, the boy was far more accurate than he would know in his comparison to the butterfly; he would be a ruling monarch clad in blue, he would be powerful, he would be beautiful, he would be kept in a glass case.

Alfred glanced up at him again, as if remembering he was still in the room.

"What are you writing, anyway?" The young boy looked up at him with wide, inquisitive eyes.

Yao glanced at the half folded letter on the desktop, sighing.

"You really want to know?" He looked intently at the little prince. He would have to know anyway, really. There couldn't be too much harm in telling him what it was, could there?

The child focused on the Jack with his full attention now, nodding firmly and crossing his arms. It wasn't often the Jack would let him in on all the complicated arrangements and organisations he was working on and Alfred puffed out his chest that he was actually about to share something with him, Something official, Something...grown-up.

"Well, it's a mandatory letter of invitation to someone we hope will one day be the Queen of Spades - your Queen, your highness. - In fact, I shall ask you to sign it later."

Alfred's expression seemed a little taken aback, "My queen? You mean...the person I will marry?"

His voice was a bit squeaky. Why were they choosing a queen now? He'd known that when he was coronated - although even that to him was still an 'if': What if they changed their mind about Matthew? It could still happen... He might not even need a queen. Either way, he knew if he were to become king, a queen was necessary, but it would be just under a decade until he was of age! To the young prince a decade was as good as forever away!

"Not strictly necessarily, your highness, though it has been a long Spades tradition for the King and Queen to be formally united by a wedding – so…yes, essentially, the person you will marry."

"But I don't want to get married _now_!" Alfred exclaimed, jumping up from where he'd been leaning against the Jack with a fresh sense of urgency.

"Of course not!" Yao wanted to be reasonable with the child; it was hard for him to understand such things at this age - the boy was not yet even ten. "These arrangements have to be made early on in a royal family - we've been planning this invitation for weeks now as it is. This letter - is merely for preparation purposes...nothing will come of it until you're much older."

Of course, this technically wasn't true. The future queen was required to come and stay at the palace from very early on, at least, that's the way they did it at the Spades palace. Seeing the distress of the child he decided it might not be best to tell him this. Not yet. He pondered briefly as to whether mentioning any of this at all had been a mistake so early. Ignorance is often bliss, as they say. It wasn't as if Alfred would know who the queen was just by looking. Perhaps there was some way to leave the boy peacefully ignorant for a while longer.

"B-but, if you send it now...how will I have time to fall in love with the queen?!" The Jack was surprised to see the little prince's eyes welling up.

Yao brought the same consoling hand down to the boy's shoulder, "As...sweet as that sentiment is, your highness, love is not exactly...required between a king and his queen. I am sure the two of you will have an excellent relationship, but do not trouble yourself with these details just yet, my prince. They are not...most important at present. As I have said, this will not affect you until later. I'm sure when you're older you will see."

Alfred still didn't understand what the Jack meant by his words. There were too many to begin with. Why could he never say things simply? Alfred thought that if the Jack were to just use half as many words then they would get things done much, much quicker. He also hated it when he withdrew certain information from him until he was 'older'. He seemed to have been waiting for years and years to be 'older'. How much older? He wanted to know. On which day of which year would he be 'older'? Although...if this wasn't going to affect him now, then...perhaps it would work out. Maybe Matthew...Well, it didn't really matter. The queen would come later, not now.

But future king or not, why marry at all, if not for love?

* * *

It was a week since the letter had arrived at the Kirkland household. One week since Arthur's mother had squealed with delight and pulled her son in tightly to congratulate him. One week since his brothers had joked about Arthur finally being worth something after all. One week since his father had lectured him on the honour it gave his family to have their son chosen to be queen and how he hoped Arthur would uphold this honour upon entering the palace. One week since Arthur had run to his room without supper and cried himself to sleep.

And in that week Arthur still hadn't come to terms with it all.

Queen. The word seemed so strange and alien on his tongue. Arthur wasn't the next queen. He couldn't be. Surely, there must have been some mistake? He'd heard his parents talking about how fortunate he was - how fortunate they all were - for him to be chosen. He didn't feel fortunate at all. He felt trapped. One week ago he'd had his whole life stretched out ahead of him. Now, each day that passed - each hour - each quickly escaping minute - was a minute closer to the day he'd be sent off on the near five hour journey to the Spades palace and then, to the rest of his life. Carefully planned out forever more on a neat training timetable and then surely in a royal diary and, after his coronation, etched into the back of his mind as 'duty'.

Most of all, Arthur just couldn't take in how suddenly it all seemed to have happened. Just the week before he'd been sitting out by the river, trailing peacefully through the manor's back gardens, talking with his well-loved faerie companions about how one day he hoped to travel to all over the world to the different kingdoms and learn from each one, and once he'd learnt all he could he'd come home and paint and write songs of all his travels, of the people he'd met and the sights he'd seen and the things he'd done. Those romantic ideas seemed so far away now.

Arthur knew that anyone considered worthy could be chosen as queen. Male or female - even a commoner, although as of yet, this hadn't happened. The idea of a female only queen had been discarded with the idea of a royal bloodline and this was supposedly a much more streamlined system of ruling. It eliminated the idea that love had to be a factor in a royal marriage - although it often hadn't been anyway. Arthur had heard many tales of the kings and queens of old and the way they were rarely true to one another, causing much scandal and unrest. This way, the king and queen had only to focus on their working relationship - their partnership. In his basic history tutoring he and his brothers had received from one of their great uncles, Arthur had learned of how most of the current kings and queens did not hold romantic ties to one another, many courting other individuals in the court. It was a widely accepted fact that there had not been a romantic king and queen in many kingdoms for centuries - Spades being an exception. No, queens were not chosen to be a lover to the king, they were chosen because they were worthy of the position in one way or another. Arthur just didn't see how he was considered worthy. Why him specifically? Why not one of his three elder brothers? Or anybody else? - And he had to leave home so early on! In only a few days he would be whisked away to the capital city where the palace and its high walls awaited him.

Why now?

Well, he knew why. They wanted him to become 'acquainted' with the prince. Thought a childhood together would bring them closer and so more dynamic and comfortable when eventually ruling. They wanted trust. It was just...why him?

He asked all these questions aloud to the night as he sat alone by the river. The pale moon remained silent for the entirety of his musings, never waking from its blanched slumber to offer him some advice, never shedding some of its luminescent rays of insight onto his troubled thoughts.

He was supposed to be in bed, resting. Tomorrow was his twelfth birthday and his parents were planning to officially announce his planned betrothal to the prince to their closest friends, despite the palace's warning that the matter best be kept discrete at this point to save too much public attention. It was said that the prince himself wasn't even to know until it was thought appropriate. When would that be? In a few days? When Arthur arrived on his very doorstep? In a few years? So much was unanswered.

The Prince of Spades.

Arthur tried desperately to conjure up some image- some meaning - to the title, but found it left his mind almost painfully blank. It made him feel drained of colour and nervous when he thought about him. There were two sides to a marriage. Not only that, Arthur didn't even know which prince he was marrying! He hadn't wanted to ask, maybe he was just too stubborn to admit interest, but he knew there were two young princes in the Spades palace. Matthew and...Alfred. But Alfred was only nine years old! So young. Marrying someone so much younger was also disconcerting. He resolved to try to clarify which prince he was...assigned.

Something about this marriage seemed so cruel and cold; there was really no hope of love in it whatsoever. "It was a business partnership" one of his brothers had explained to another when he'd commented on how neither were going to be able to have any offspring for lack of 'proper equipment', provoking a huge flush from Arthur who had been sitting solemnly at the kitchen table the whole time, pretending not to listen. It was true though, the whole thing was a business partnership that consumed your entire life. The idea of heirs was abandoned long ago and the thought seemed almost old fashioned now. Instead, the king and queen would appoint who they wanted to be the next in power. It could be anyone, in fact, it was almost peculiar that the king had requested his own son be king before he died so suddenly. Arthur wondered what his future betrothed thought of all this - had he learned to accept an inevitable marriage arrangement as part of his duty as king?

It didn't help for him to dwell on the prince too much.

He focused instead on the dark rippling waters of the river as he trailed his hand in soft circles, watching the reflected image of the moon distort and twist until it was no longer recognisable. Across the water what seemed to be a floating candle drifted over from the forest. A small shape lit up like a firefly. As it neared, the slight panic Arthur had felt withered away and he sighed in recognition.

"Hello there," he said softly, a sad smile on his lips as he reached out for the small faerie to sit on his hand.

She perched on his palm comfortably, not fearing this boy who had earned the trust of the spirits years ago. Her delicate blue dress tickled Arthur's palm like a soft cobweb.

 _"It's late Arthur,"_ Her sweet, tinkling voice rose above the whistling of the cold night breeze, it was less of a voice than a tune, one that Arthur had realised only he could hear. That was, at least, he was the only one in his family who could. _"Everyone else sleeps, why are you out in the night?"_

The soft radiating light she gave off illuminated Arthur's face as he replied,

"I had to think."

She didn't question him further on what he was doing up in the dead of night. He himself knew he should return soon, his parents would be livid if they knew he'd snuck out of bed, particularly when the following day seemed so important to them. The faerie was surprisingly still on his palm. She merely sat and watched, sensing Arthur's solemn demeanour. Tonight she did not dance or laugh or whizz around his person playfully as usual. She did not call her friends out to laze with him on the grass or twirl on his shoulder or tug on a lock of his soft blond hair before flitting off to hide mischievously behind a leafy stem, giggling to each other when he feigned annoyance. Tonight she just sat, dragging her little knees up to her chest the way Arthur could remember himself doing when he and his brothers were still young enough to tolerate sitting together quietly long enough for their mother to tell them all a bedtime story. He hated to disappoint the little face staring up at him, but Arthur's tales were neither so whimsical nor so precious.

"I have to go away soon." Arthur felt a lump in his throat as he spoke and found he couldn't bear to look at the beautiful creature in his palm. Feeling as if he should somehow elaborate to his small friend, he found his throat constricting when he thought of the words he could not say. What even was it he wanted to say?

However, he could still feel the pale glow of her upturned face and twinkling eyes gazing at him in wonder.

Arthur realised that this was what he feared the most. Leaving all he knew. Perhaps that would seem strange to anyone else; he was the youngest of the Kirkland brothers, save for little Peter (who was always well loved and fussed over, being the baby) and the last on anyone's minds. However, this offered him sweet seclusion and a strange freedom. He could please himself without the pressure of upholding his family name. He could escape the severity of his father and the teasing of his brothers and just pass away the hours out here by the river with his spirit friends. It was this freedom he would miss most of all. He was tied down now. To the prince, to the palace, to the court - to the kingdom itself.

Was it selfish? To be so repulsed by such an honour.

The faerie in his outstretched palm said nothing for a while but eventually she raised a small hand to Arthur's cheek, sensing his despair, _"You will be greatly missed."_

Arthur felt relieved that she hadn't asked him why he was going, he thought she knew anyway. Somehow.

For a short moment he looked at her small face. She was smiling at him sadly and they seemed to communicate silently to each other through the soft touch of her hand. It was times like this Arthur really did believe he really did have some kind of...power. That it wasn't all in his head like his parents kept repeating. That the notion that he could somehow bend magic elements to his will and use the spirits as both allies and forces was true. Just like in the stories of old...

Arthur was momentarily distracted by a flickering on the water's surface, at first assuming that more faeries were approaching from the forest. It looked as if rippling flames were dancing along the rivers moving waters. He leaned towards the edge of the bank to better see. More flames seemed to be revealed as he did so. The faerie leapt from his palm and whizzed to the water's edge, examining, like Arthur, the strange patterns. He looked to his faerie companion to see if she was somehow making these shifting shapes herself. Some clever light show she was performing to lift Arthur's spirits. She, instead was frozen, and rather than gazing down at the water she was looking up with wide, horrified eyes to some far off point behind Arthur's head. This, again, was odd. The interest was clearly in the shifting changes of the water, the strange dancing mirage, almost like fire and- Arthur seemed to freeze at the same moment. Seeing in the water's surface not only the flames but the outline of a chimney, and an attic window, and then the edge of a tiled roof very familiar to him. A split-second later he seemed to process this surreal composition in the river and turned to gaze, like the faerie had, with horrified eyes at the manor house he'd had his back to this entire time. It hadn't been fire on the river, no, it had been a reflection. A reflection of what he saw now... and that was his entire home going up in flames.

* * *

A bloodcurdling scream from his mother was enough to bring Arthur to his senses.  
He jumped up from his position by the water's edge, breathless and alive with fresh horror, and ran with hurtling force towards the sound. Towards the house. Towards the flames.

He was out of breath upon fully sprinting the length of the garden and the thick heat emitted by the vastly growing flames in the house hit him full force as he reached the back doors. Through the glass he could see the lower level of the house was burning as ferociously as the rest, but there were fewer flames at the rear end of the building. He could feel his breath hitching in his throat from panic. Somewhere he heard his name being called. Recognising the voice as his mother's, he tore around the side of the house. In his hast he didn't watch the ground below him and felt a searing pain shoot up his left leg as he stepped on a fallen piece of burning wood on his bare feet. He kept moving. He'd circled to the parlour room window when he caught sight of his mother. She was running, frantic, her long hair wild and tangled from where she had lost her hair pins in her panic. Her cotton night dress was tangled around her knees and covered in the sooty black smudges not unlike the ones Arthur would find on his hands after placing a new log on the large hearth in the family room. She was calling his name.

"Mother!" he yelled, his voice high pitched with both his panic and his youth, terrified by the flames framing her in the room.

Seeing her son standing outside, she ran to the window, unbolting it swiftly and reaching through to touch the boy. She stroked his face and hair, her hand blackened with soot.

"Oh, my baby, my little boy..." She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to take brief peace in her son's safety.  
She was brought to reality by the distinct sound of splintering wood and a male cry from the second floor, her eyes shooting around wildly. A mother of four could not take solace for too long. Not in this situation.

"Listen- Arthur, my dear! You must run, you hear me? You have to take Peter and run!"  
Arthur noticed the small child in her other arm for the first time. Little Peter was bundled up in his sleep blanket and whimpering softly from the intense heat of the burning house.

"But, Mother-" Arthur felt the near hysterical panic rise in his throat as the small child was pressed into his arms.

"Don't argue, please! It's them, Arthur, they won't stop! The fire- you aren't safe!" Her words made no sense, her voice thick with tears, "Run through the forest - you know the way, don't you my sweet? You always did love playing by the river...oh, my baby, just get away- take Peter and don't look back-"

"Come with me!" Arthur choked, clutching the now howling Peter in his arms and sidestepping to try and avoid the burning in his leg from the growing flames licking the side of the house. If they could only lodge the window open some more she could get out too. She could escape. The thought of her not doing so winded Arthur a bit. Shock didn't even begin to describe the feeling coursing through his veins. His mother...burning alive in this house. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"I can't, my love - your brothers!-" As if to support this claim, there was a scream from somewhere higher up in the house, and the strangled cry of someone's name. "Go, Arthur! Just go! Your mummy loves you very much - just run! Run as far as you can! Get help!"

With one last stroke of his face and a painfully soft touch to the back of Peter's blankets, she tore off into the flame ridden hallway with the determination only a desperate mother could have. Arthur's last sight of his mother was of her battling through to the staircase, attempting to climb to the second floor, from which the choking voice of one of his brothers could be made out faintly against the cracking and ripping of the fire.

"Mother! Ma!-" Arthur's voice came out hoarse and cracked as he screamed out to the empty parlour, "D-don't just... leave me!"

It took a worrying creaking noise from the side of the house for him to move, realising that his mother was gone. He gripped Peter tightly as he fled back around the building towards the dark forest a little in the distance. He skirted around the burning debris now littering the grass and tried not to react when he misplaced a step and a torturous burn would tear up his leg. His efforts didn't prevent the contorted expression his face took on and the brief sharp howl that would pass from his lips. Finally, reaching the back of the house he tore through the garden, sights set on the river. Something about his mother's words, the distress in her voice... it propelled him on. He needed to be away from there. Not just from the growing flames. From the house. He didn't know why, but this was no time to ask questions. For the first time in his life, he let go of all the curiosity and the indignation and the fussing and simply focused with a rather primal attention to the task at hand. Getting out of there alive.

Finally reaching the water's edge, he held Peter as high as he could and plunged into the water, relishing briefly the sharp relief it brought the aching burns on his legs as he splashed across, but wincing as the icy waters lapping up to almost his chest. The frozen waves pushing up his nightshirt into a twisted mass around his torso and flooding his undergarments rather uncomfortably in the process. Panting from the effort of wading through so ferociously and the shock of the cold, he clambered out onto the grassy bank on the other side, his nightshirt now soaked and clinging to him, making him feel frozen in the chilled winter air. He prayed he wouldn't be outside for too long, a numbness already spreading across his torso and setting in his toes, so fierce it felt as if it were settling in his very bones.

Peter was still crying noisily which Arthur saw only as an indication that his brother was still breathing and so, a good sign. Once back on his feet and just inside the forest he glanced back briefly at his home. It was engulfed in flames, burning fast like dry wood. Arthur heard a strange strangled noise from somewhere very nearby and wondered briefly at its origin before realising it had escaped from his own throat. Something caught his eye beside the house. A shape - a silhouette even. Standing where Arthur himself had stood not too long ago, by the parlour window. It was far away but it looked... It looked like a figure. His heart jumped sickeningly in his chest at the thought of his mother having escaped. But he knew at a second glance that this figure couldn't be his mother; they were too still. Too calm. In fact... Were they...looking his way? His stomach dropped, causing him to feel at once nauseated with paranoia and with the pain of the burns and his mothers pleading words fresh in his mind, he wrapped up Peter tightly and sank deeper into the gaping dark mouth of the forest, breaking into a shaky run and hoping to forget the ominous figure he wasn't even completely certain to have seen by the house.

* * *

He must have been running for hours. At least, that's how it felt to Arthur. His legs ached with more than just burns now, although they alone sent searing pains through his body with every step. His arms ached too, from holding Peter to his chest tightly, hoping to keep his baby brother warm. The infant was silent now, but Arthur was aware of his humid breath on his neck and so didn't worry too severely for his sudden hush. Most concerning of all though was not Arthur's pain, but the areas with an intense lack of it. His feet had long since lost all feeling, frozen from his trek through the river, merely thudding numbly against the hard icy carpet of dead leaves on the forest floor. His hands too were merely claw-like vices of ice from gripping his brother so tightly for so long.

Running blindly on now, he couldn't help but let his brain rattle on and on with endless garbled thoughts. It was like cogs in a clock, winding and winding until Arthur was sure he would be over wound and start whirring backwards in one snapping movement, winding down until he'd simply cease to have thoughts at all.

Now that the original red-hot fear of the flames was a reasonable distance behind him, his mind was in turn firing up and festering like a growing flame itself, ablaze with questions he hadn't dared to ask himself earlier. Where was he going? What of his family? His home? His newborn brother in his arms? The small pulsing bundle of life that was now his to protect. Everything seemed ridiculous now. The letter, the marriage, the prince, the lost desire to travel the world. Had all those things even been real at all? It felt so... childish to him, despite being only a child himself. And yet...fleeing through the woods away from the only life he'd ever known made him feel extremely small, as if he were five years old again and running from his older brothers as they played some cruel prank on him. That fear seemed so tiny and false to him now and a sick part of him wanted to feel it again. He would trade it, it was okay! He would trade back. He yelled it in his head. _It's okay, I've had enough! I'm sorry, I'll trade! I'm sorry..._ Nobody replied to these strangled wishes. No higher entity answered his pleas or reached out to touch him somehow. They either weren't listening, didn't care or, this last prospect Arthur found growingly more probable, they simply were not there at all.

Tears had been streaming silently down his face the entire winding journey through the forest. Tears for his family and his home. His mother and brothers ( even if the latter had made his life hell on occasion) even for his cold father whose strong face he pictured now, with one of those rare, somewhat strained smiles he saved for the occasional times Arthur would do something right. Each time he tripped on a branch, a fresh, thick sob would escape him in a choking sound. And those sobs were not for his family, but for his own pathetic and selfish escape. For his endless stumble through the trees that, for all he knew, could lead him nowhere. Why him? Why should he escape? It was with aching bitterness that he recalled how much stronger, smarter, how much more handsome all his brothers were. Was it some kind of joke that he was the one to get out alive? No... perhaps not. He remembered the soft weight filling his arms. This was why. He may be unimportant but Peter wasn't. His life was glistening and new and stretched forth for the child to seize when he got the chance. Arthur would give him that chance.

Either way, whoever he was running for, the boy was tiring. His footfalls were becoming more erratic, his stumbles more frequent, his breath shaky and his body quivering from the cold. Still, he tore on. He couldn't bear the thought of just fizzling out there in the forest. Just...giving up. No, his father would tell him, that wasn't the Kirkland way. Worthless or not, he felt there was something to prove. He wasn't given this life just to...just to throw it away. His mother's words just kept repeating in his mind, her tortured face as she yelled to him in the fire, how she'd looked battling through those flames on the staircase. He had to survive, for her sake, for Peter's sake.

Surviving was easier said than done however. The pain was becoming unbearable and Arthur bit hard down on his Tongue as he swayed and scraped one of his burnt legs on the rough trunk of a tree. Tasting the metallic flavour of blood in his mouth he staggered to a halt, his face screwed up and his small fists grabbing at the edge of his wet nightshirt. Leaning over gingerly to inspect the wound, he wanted to be sick at what he saw. The pink, fleshy burn now a torn gash and dripping with the same thick, red liquid he could taste in his mouth. He tore his eyes away from it, a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach and the discomforting sensation of something rising in his throat. He swallowed hard. Standing still only seemed to draw out the pain more and so, sucking in his breath, he ploughed on, trying to forget the pitiful state of his calf.

He didn't get far before he tripped badly again, falling downwards now, into a ditch of dead leaves. These weren't enough to provide any kind of cushioning for his fall however, and there was a deeply unnerving crack as he hit the hard earth. Arthur cried out as a stab of pain shot through him. He reached for his brother to check if was okay, his promises of saving the boy echoing around his skull, only hearing a soft whimpering from nearby. He pulled his small warm body to him, confirming he was at least still intact, something Arthur could not say for sure of himself. Trying to rise, he found it physically impossible. He let a frustrated and pained cry escape his mouth before collapsing back down into the shallow ditch.

Arthur was faint now, his head spinning. He could feel himself in his brain thrashing around with the effort to get up and keep moving. Yet his limbs remained splayed at his sides like dead weight. Inside he was writhing with the agony of defeat. Everything was either sore or numb or quite simply searing with pain. He was far too exhausted to do anything about it now though. Couldn't even bring himself to call for help. He felt his eyes drooping and his body curling up, trying to fight the soft entangling fingers of unconsciousness from wrapping around him. He forced his eyelids to stay open for a few seconds longer and stared up at the sky. Through the gaps in the trees he could make out the bright pinpoints of stars, gazing down at him from their high perches in the air. Somewhere very far away a church bell was sounding. He lifted a hand half heartedly, wanting to reach out for the sound. The sound of civilisation. The sound of rescue.

He listened to the bell sound, it's chime so distant and yet pounding in his brain.

The chimes continued humming one by one in the distance. Arthur felt as though he were listening from the bottom of an ocean. Lying on his back on the sandy ground of the freezing waters, gazing at a distorted moon and listening to the muted vibration of the bells somewhere far above on the land.

And these resonating chimes repeated twelve times before the dreadful silence returned to him once again.

The sounds ceased, leaving only the soft noises of winds rustling through the trees and night creatures skittering through the leafy forest ground.

Twelve chimes... he thought sleepily.

That's when it struck him like a final, ringing thirteenth chime of the clock. Today was his twelfth birthday.

It was the last thing he remembered.

The final, almost laughably tiny fragment before he forgot it all.

* * *

 **A/N**

A little after note on the story in general ~

I have been writing this cardverse fic for a looong time - years literally! It's not complete but it is pretty much finished in terms of plot planning etc. and to be honest, all this time I have been continuing to write this story on and off mostly for my own entertainment rather than with the interest of submitting it on here. Buuut - now that the end is in sight and I've been going through a bit of writer's block with it lately I thought I may as well dust it off and start putting a few chapters out in case there's anyone else out there who'll appreciate what I've been writing, as well as to give myself time for some inspiration. Because a lot of it's written at this stage I'll hopefully release updates fairly regularly too.

Also to note:

\- Well firstly - this story does/will contain USUK for those interested BUT it is kinda slow on that front, the romance is a big part of the plot but it's not super quick like many fanfic's so unfortunately there is some waiting to be done ;) BUT (again) there are a few other pairings going on as well.

\- There are OC's - but not that many, most important characters are official or at least countries (though I may be using slightly different names for some than the usual - but in these cases I'll try to note it at the start of the chapter )

\- I'm English - I use English words and spell English-ly eheh

\- Chapters tend to be long - I've had to split quite a few of them up to be more manageable but yeah, looong chapters in most cases (especially the prologue gosh but I wanted to do it in one sitting to set the story up .)

\- I apologise if characters are ever OOC (I know I played around a bit with Seychelles who appears later) but on the most part I tried to keep them as in character as possible.

\- I don't own Hetalia! But plot and writing are mine :)

\- And last thing - I link a song with each chapter, maybe because I built up a big playlist of inspirational music for writing this story. They're just for fun - listen if you're curious!

ANYWAY - enough stalling - I really hope my little story to someone's taste and I have really enjoyed writing it so far ^.^


	2. The Spotless Mind

**Chapter Song:** **Theme** (The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind) – Jon Brion ( watch?v=zI-YR4LBzL0)

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 **Chapter 2: The Spotless Mind**

 _He was alone. Always alone. Stumbling through a dark forest. The way through which he never quite remembered. But he'd been here before. In fact, it was this same place he visited very frequently at night, the scene flickering on like a lighted splint behind his closed eyelids. Always the same. And the whole place was burning. The trees, the leaves, the ground itself. The merry birds on their little perches in the oak trees burned, their sweet chirping voices hollowing out and falling with their ashen remains. Everything would be ablaze around him, raging silently. Just like every time, a pathway appeared beneath him, blackened from the flames. He never wanted to, but every time he'd follow it, his legs taking him where his mind didn't care to wander. Around him the cracking, burning trees reached down their desperate hands. They moaned and screamed in voices he felt that he should know but didn't. He'd carry on this way for what felt like hours, stumbling along the ashy path, the whole forest dying and blazing around him. Until he reached her. In a shallow ditch she would be, curled in a ball and screaming his name. Always the same. He called to her and called to her until his voice was hoarse, but his feet would never move. Paralysed and alone he could never reach her. After sometime she looked up at him, her face as grey as slate and shimmering all over, hiding her identity. But she would call his name. Over and over again she would call it. "Run- Arthur, it's them! They won't stop! The fire, you aren't safe!-" Always the same. It never made any sense. Her mouth would contort around the words and be horribly wide, a gaping black hole in her face. It all grew silent for a single second and the woman opened her eyes. There was a feeling of being underwater as he stared at her wide irises. Green. Always the same. He'd then see not her, but himself...And he'd be burning too._

Arthur's eyelids snapped open. His breath came out shakily and a damp sweat was settled uncomfortably on his forehead. Reaching out he put a hand on the cool glass of the window pane beside his bed. It was comforting against his fingers, seemed to ground him again and tell him that this life was real. That he was no longer burning. His heart rate slowed in his chest at the thought.

It was that strange dream again. That...nightmare. It was relentless and haunting for more reasons than one, but mainly because Arthur felt it should mean something to him when it didn't. That was what most scared him.

He rolled over, pushing it from his mind almost easily now because he was used to it. It always came and it was always the same. Always.

He couldn't bear to think about it today anyway. Too many morning twilights were spent curled up and agonising over the dream, over his past. Over all the things he'd forgotten and all the questions he still had. It physically hurt him to think about it, his stomach twisting and aching with the effort of memory and the grief for something he couldn't recall.

The early morning light seemed to pierce through the room like a solid line. The suns first rays of the day softly invading the small space of his room, illuminating the wooden walls and floor. The bed was almost cruelly warm that morning and Arthur wanted nothing more than to curl back under his woollen bed quilt and sleep till noon. He sat up, fighting against the strong allure of his drooping pillow and leaving the comforting embrace of his worn wolf pelt mattress. Because, as they say, the early bird catches the worm.

Shaking the entangling tendrils of sleep from his thoughts and body and with this phrase in mind, Arthur swung his legs out of bed. The worn-smooth, crooked wooden floorboards were pleasantly warm from the early sun on his bare feet. It obviously wasn't as early as he would have liked or the boards would still be cool from the chilled winter night. Aware of this, he wasted no time in pulling on his light, cotton work shirt and trousers straight over the underclothes he had slept in. From under the low wooden bed he hooked out his leather hunting boots. These had been a gift passed down to him and he seldom wore any other shoes. The soles were supple and soundless when padding across the forest floor, the leather already worn in from when he had received them second hand, smelled fresh and summoned up far off images in Arthur's mind that he thought must be memories of a time he didn't know anymore. The image of a man kitted in full leather riding gear, his face always shifting and changing before Arthur could place who he was. Most memories were like that for Arthur now. The distant ones anyway.

He pulled on his boots, feeling the familiar snugness of them hugging his foot as he double knotted the laces. Straightening, he had time to clumsily re-arrange the blankets on his bed and splash water on his face from the tiny basin in the corner of the room, his forehead still clammy from the nightmare. They didn't have running water out here in the peasant villages, but there was still water left in the porcelain bowl that he'd carried home from the old well by the river the night before. There was a small mirror above it too, and Arthur pulled a face and made a small attempt to straighten out his ruffled fringe with his fingers. It was no use.

Abandoning the basin (and any hope of taming his fringe) Arthur pulled open the thin wooden door to the next room. He turned to survey his tiny box room in all its humble splendour. He half-smiled. It wasn't much, a little wooden cabin room fitting really only his bed along with a little desk and chest in the corner, the basin in the other, but it was his and it was what he thought of – perhaps oddly - as one of the safest places in the world.

He closed his door and made his swift way through the main room of the house (the second of three) his boots near silent on the threadbare rug covering the bare boards. He was somewhat surprised to find the house empty. The fire place on the wall cold and still ashy from the previous night. The rocking chair vacant and the cot in the corner absent of child. Nobody was sitting at the small wooden table or singing softly as they stirred a pot over the fire. On the wooden end table by the front door was a small note that caught his eye as he passed. He reached down to inspect it.

 _Arthur._

Have left early for market day in the town square - hoping Jean will do me a deal on those sweet potatoes.

Took Peter with me - he looked a bit peaky.

I know you're alright on your own but be safe in those woods and don't forget to eat!

Here Arthur stopped reading to smile wearily and scoop up the rosy apple and small brown package simply labelled 'food' left beside the note. She was always bothering him about that. He slipped the items into the leather satchel attached to his belt and noticed there were a few final lines at the bottom of the small slip of paper.

 _Tell that Antonio when you see him that he still owes me a chicken! - Well, just a leg will do.  
I'll see you later.  
_  
 _Oh- and happy birthday, dear.  
_  
Arthur was smiling unintentionally as he hurried through the front door, pulling down his soft leather jacket from its hook and over his own shoulders in one swift motion before springing down the few rickety wooden steps of his cabin home. Taking a bite out of the apple and basking a little in the brilliant winter sun that greeted him outside, he allowed himself a moment of happiness - or perhaps satisfaction was a better word - as he began his way down the dusty track leading away from his home.

Of course. He was fourteen years old today. He'd almost forgotten.

It seemed so strange to think that it had only been two years since he'd moved here. Since he'd been...well, reborn in a sense. But that felt odd to say and odder to feel.

They told him he was nearly dead when they found him. All curled up in a ball in a ditch in the forest and clutching his little brother to his chest to keep the infant warm. They couldn't work out how he'd managed to get there, they said. They laughed about it now, the way he seemed to have appeared out of nowhere - as if he'd been coughed up by the very forest itself. He was so far from anywhere, the next villages all miles away and any manor estates nearby far, far behind him. He was something of an enigma.

It was a chance encounter actually; a few men from the next town up were doing a small delivery of fresh produce to Kattleroot, the village Arthur lived in now. The' next town up' however was nearly a three hour trip away. They had been clattering up the forest path in the pale grey twilight of the early morning when one of their horses had stopped dead in its tracks. Its ears pressed back against its head. Quite a stir that caused, the loaded carts bumping up against one another and the two other horses huffing and snorting at the disturbance. Listening a little closer, the men heard what had caught the horses' attention, and that was the loud cry of a newborn baby. Eerie it had sounded apparently, the piercing wail of a baby in the depths of the forest, some of the men had point blank refused to investigate for fear of witchcraft of some kind. He had been found in the end though. Cold and soaked through, his lips blue from the beginnings of hypothermia. Covered in burns and bleeding gashes and one of his legs at a painful broken angle. Yes, surely, they'd pegged him for dead at that point. They'd even considered leaving him at first, scooping the weeping baby out of his frozen arms and looking down at him with deep-set grimaces on their faces. He wasn't sure what made them change their minds. Fate maybe? Arthur didn't really believe in that though. Whatever it was, he and his brother were set down in the back of the cart and sent off towards the awaiting little village. Arthur had been covered lightly with a hessian sack labelled 'turnips'. Some people still called him turnip now, even after two years. It was a pet name that sort of stuck; A joke.

They eventually arrived at their destination and - this was the funny part really - the men just dropped them off with everything else. Laying them out with the vegetables before packing up and making their rambling way back through the trees.

The merchants hadn't known what to do at first, assuming, like the delivery men had, that he and his brother were dead, and wondering why on earth they had left the two of them here of all places. Eventually they found some conviction and rushed them to the only person they could think of.

Old Mel, they called her, though she couldn't have been a day over fifty. Her eyes still bright in that lively, youthful way that eyes could be and her auburn hair in a messy braid over her shoulder, reaching almost to her waist. She was a healer, a doctor of sorts. Only...she could do a little more than your usual physician could. A lot more, in fact.

She had 'magic hands' they said. Arthur knew this meant she was a witch, but where others may shy away from this kind of treatment, he knew now that had she not been, he would probably be dead. She had her work cut out for her that day though. A broken shin bone, severe burns, the increasing grip of hypothermia - he did indeed, look like a goner. And she says her heart jumped near right out of her ribcage when she saw his eyes open for the first time. Says he looked right at her and couldn't stop blinking like the light was too bright for him or something. It was like bringing someone back from the dead, the feeling it gave her to see his green eyes flickering around in confusion. She felt for him then, waking up in a strange cabin on somebody else's bed in so much pain. Arthur himself remembered it quite clearly though, despite it being two years prior. His tormented expression had not been from the pain, but from the severe confusion of it all. His head spun and he began to panic when he realised he had near no idea of what he was doing or where he was or even really _who_ he was. They'd had to put him under again and as the strong smelling ointment was shoved under his nose he'd caught sight of another figure in the room beside Old Mel. They were holding a baby in their arms. He felt himself let go a bit because it formed a vague shape of memory in his mind to see this small child. Not only this, a name: Peter. It was a tiny thing to remember, especially when he seemed to have forgotten so much else, but he grabbed hold of that shard of memory - of sanity - and didn't let it go until everything had faded yet again.

He'd spent a few days like that. Waking and fading, panicking and then easing at the sight of his brother or the cool touch of Mel's hand, the familiar scent of the ointment, pushing him into darkness again. On the third day of his recovery he'd woken in the night shaking and sweating heavily. His hair matted and his shirt (the same nightshirt he'd been wearing when they found him) sticking to him uncomfortably. It was the nightmare, the same one he'd had last night, only this was the first time it happened and it left him breathless and horrified. He could still hear the words of the strange woman in the dream echoing around his brain: "Run- Arthur, it's them! They won't stop! The fire - you aren't safe!-". It made his palm's sweat thinking of these words because they were so urgent and so very, very desperate and yet... he didn't understand. Mel had been stirred from her permanent position at his side, she slept there even, her head lolling on the old rocking chair when night came. She grabbed hold of his hand at the sight of him so distraught and dishevelled, his eyes wide and haunted.

"A-Arthur!" He had choked out, clutching her hand tightly and staring deep into her eyes, hoping wildly to find something to cling onto in their golden depths.

"I'm sorry, child?" she replied quietly, stroking his arm to soothe him from his obvious distress, unsure of what he was trying to tell her with this outburst.

"M-my name! My name is Arthur!" He let the words stumble uncertainly out of his mouth. The woman in his dream had been chanting it over and over. He didn't know why, but he knew that each time she yelled that name it was meant for him. It was his. He'd had to tell Mel before it was too late, before he forgot it all again or before it never really existed in the first place.

But that was all so long ago now. He'd made a full recovery fairly quickly, though he still had a slight limp on his left leg. He stayed in Kattleroot, the humble forest village which had become his home. Honestly, what choice did he have? He couldn't imagine ever having lived anywhere else now. He stayed with Mel too, who admitted to becoming much attached to him and his brother, and Arthur had to say the same of her. She was kind but she also had a certain wizened toughness about her that made Arthur feel kind of intimidated but…safe. She was eccentric but it was her little oddities and daily rituals that soothed Arthur's mind. He himself was a creature of habit and appreciated familiarity very highly since becoming so uncertain of so many things in his life. Many people just assumed him and peter to be her sons and that was certainly less complicated than the truth. Those in the village that knew better though (and this happened to be most) knew Arthur to be the strange little boy with amnesia they'd found near death in a hole in the forest. Despite the wariness he was greeted with during his first few months in Kattleroot however, the boy was now widely accepted by the village and many people seemed to have taken a shine to this odd child with no past.

Kattleroot was secluded and quiet - so much so that very few had heard anything about the mysterious Kirkland manor fire that had occurred on the same night Arthur was found. Those that did made no connection anyway. The fire had been dealt with very discretely by the royal council and much information was held back from the newspapers and criers. Within a few days the incident was almost completely forgotten by even those in the capital who had instant access to the latest news and would have known Arthur's father as fairly influential lord. Mel had heard the story though. She, unlike the others, did not forget. The short story they released played endlessly on her mind. One line in particular: _The whole family were reported dead by the fire team, although the bodies of the two youngest Kirkland children could not be found, it is assumed their remains were beyond recognition at the point of examination._

That was it. No first names, no descriptions, no suggestion of a further investigation. Nothing. Mel kept all this to herself, not even trying to ask Arthur about it to see whether it provoked any memories. She didn't feel it was the right time. Not when the boy was starting to set down new roots.

He was settling in so well, it wouldn't do to worry him with his past. Not yet.

Arthur felt refreshed as he padded down the beaten dirt track that led from his home to the heart of the village. In the near distance he could make out the smoke from chimneys and the clattering sound of people going about their early morning business, a bell ringing somewhere deeper in the village, or perhaps beyond, most likely the main town square. He passed a few other houses not unlike his own, some of them with people sitting out on the wooden porches in the mild winter sunshine. An old woman laughed when she saw Arthur pass, revealing her toothless gums.

"Good morning, Arthur!" She waved a hand to him, rocking on her chair in happy amusement.

"Good morning, Mrs. Sprigg," Arthur replied politely. He was always polite to Mrs. Sprigg, though in truth, she confused him a little. She always laughed when he came by in the mornings. 'A wonder of the world' she called him. He'd never understand it.

It was almost odd to think of how many people knew his name now. He hadn't really stopped to think about it properly before, but now that he reflected upon it, it was quite remarkable. He supposed they didn't often get 'Arthurs' in villages like Kattleroot. Boys who materialised out of thin air with no memory of where they came from or whom they really were. At first people felt a little sorry for him, at least some did, others were plain scared of him, thinking he was some...child of the devil or something equally absurd. He was different. He spoke differently and had different mannerisms and when asked why, he simply said he did not know or he could not remember - not exactly the sort of answer people were expecting. But people grew accustomed to his strange ways and, evidently, grew to like them - to like _him_. That was even odder because Arthur would never say he was a likeable person. He was too polite - until he was tested, and then his hot-headedness would get the better of him. It was something Mel often teased and scolded him for. 'That temper of yours will be the death of us all one day, Arthur' she'd say. Sometimes she'd comment that it was actually rather endearing - an idea Arthur resented wholeheartedly. He was _not_ endearingly hot-headed. As well as this he knew he had a tendency to be either too awkward or too cynical and neither were particularly favourable traits. However, not one frown greeted him that morning and even those villagers he knew to be having a hard time at that point - the woman whose son had caught pneumonia from the cold, harsh winter they were having or the old man whose crop of parsnips hadn't survived the season, eliminating his main source of income - even they, had a weary smile for Arthur as he passed them.

It was also rather remarkable how busy things were today. On these early morning walks Arthur would usually only see half as many faces as he had this morning. But then again, there was an explanation for this too. It was market day; they were all headed for the Oakfield town square. It would be twice as packed with stalls and there would be twice the amount of produce, sellers even coming from places like the capital with much finer products to sell to the farm region dwellers (though in truth, these were merely the leftovers of what they sold in the capital, they hauled them all to villages like Kattleroot knowing the simple villagers would think they were getting a bargain for whatever remains they wished to flog at a decent price). Mel herself had left at the crack of dawn to get in early - she ran her own small apothecary stall selling whatever herbal concoctions she had made that winter. There was always something to do on market day; it was when people brought out their best products at the best prices. Market day wasn't the only reason it was so busy though, Arthur reminded himself, no, it was busy because he was up much later than usual this morning, swayed to sleep in by the temptress that was his bed. At this, he quickened his pace.

He hadn't been far from his destination anyway, and with the small boost of speed he'd given himself he was soon where he wanted to be. Looking up at the house he let out a sigh and wondered, with an unwelcome knot in his gut, whether or not he would be pleased to see him.

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 **A/N**

Fairly introductory, uneventful chapter here – but the next one should be out in a couple of days! A lot of the early stuff is sort of setting out the scene and story but I'll try to keep the ball rolling quite fast.

Thanks for reading and thank you to those who have followed, favourited or reviewed so far! :D


	3. Undeclared

**Chapter Song** : **Undeclared** \- The Dodos ( watch?v=qcSGX4tjxec)

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 **Chapter 3: Undeclared**

Looking up at the familiar building, Arthur sighed, breathing in the homily atmosphere it emitted. From inside Arthur could hear the sounds of many voices, laughing and shouting, as well as the sound of feet thudding on wood boards and pots clattering on a stove. Outside a middle aged man sat under the overhang of the house's roof where it extended out into a blacksmith's workspace. He was bent over an anvil, bluntly mashing the glowing end of some metal implement into shape with a metallic pang every few seconds. Arthur was sure the man was far too absorbed in his work to notice him approaching but he surprised him by sitting up and setting the hammer aside, lifting his metal eye protector up onto his forehead to see Arthur properly. He grinned wearily at the boy, his eyes crinkling at the edges. His face was rugged and lined and he had a strong jaw line, a light layer of salt and pepper stubble dusting the lower half of his face.

"Hello, Mr. Carriedo," Arthur tried to return the smile, knowing his could never be as welcoming or warm.

"Arthur," He took on a false stern expression, his golden eyes still echoing with his wide smile and giving him away, "I've known you for almost two years now and I've been telling you for just as long: call me Juan."

Arthur smiled sheepishly, "Ah, of course, I always forget, Mr.-...Juan, I mean."

The warm grin returned to the man's face, "Antonio's still inside, son, things are a bit hectic this morning with Market day n'all and... well, you know how it is."

Arthur nodded gratefully and circled round to where the front door was located as the familiar sizzle and pang of the molten metal being shaped resumed once again.

"-And Arthur," the man's voice rose up over the clanging momentarily," I almost forgot, happy birthday."

"Thank you, sir," Arthur let himself crack a smile, constantly forgetting this fact himself. Maybe it was ridiculous, to be so cheered on by the fact that today was his birthday when there were so many other pressing worries at hand, but it was a useless indulgence he allowed himself.

Climbing the three or four steps to the risen wooden porch of the house Arthur heard the bustling noises from inside swell. He tapped on the wood of the door hesitantly, almost hating to interrupt the pleasant chaos of the Carriedo household.

The door was pulled open with a creak and the sound of laughter and the smell of bread toasting hit him as it did so. Eduard, one of the younger Carriedo children stood in the doorway, looking up at Arthur and sucking on a bent out of shape teaspoon.

"Toni!" he bellowed," S'Arthur at the door!"

Leaving the door gaping open, the youngster wandered off back into the house, Arthur hearing him shout vaguely that they save him some breakfast and stop eating all the bread.

Arthur allowed the smile to play on his lips as he walked inside, closing the front door behind him.

Mrs. Carriedo was at the table, slicing up a single loaf of bread to be toasted over the fire, Eduard and Finn leaning in to claim the biggest slices for themselves. A young child and the only daughter of the Carriedo's was gurgling in a wooden baby's seat beside them, laughing gleefully at the noisy activities. Karlos, eighteen and the eldest Carriedo child, hurried through the room on his way out of the house, grabbing a slice off the table before his mother could slap him away, ignoring Eduard and Finn's indignant claims that he had taken the biggest one. Sophia Carriedo, the mother of all these children, looked up from the loaf to smile at him warmly. Wiping her hands on her dirtied cotton apron she came around the table to give the boy a motherly hug.

"Ah, and how are you on your birthday, my sweet turnip?" She was one of the few people he could tolerate calling him the pet name.

"I am very well, thank you." Arthur smiled at her politely as he spoke, for it was true. That morning, he was fine. He had food in his pocket - an immense rarity for many in the village, the pale sun streaming against him through the window and the warm feeling of the day being his own settled in his chest.

He liked Sophia. She was hard-working and she had taken Arthur under her wing from the very beginning, claiming that he was 'just lovely!' and 'much better mannered than any of her boys!'. It wasn't true of course, and he didn't like her because she flattered him (that only made him feel embarrassed) but because she always wore a smile, even when everyone else looked ready to give up.

At that moment, Antonio himself strolled into the kitchen, a grin on his face and his hunting pack already slung over his back.

"Turnip~!" he exclaimed upon seeing Arthur, winking because he knew how irritated it made his best friend when he called him that.

Arthur scowled in distaste and then, as usual, softened.

Arthur and Antonio had been friends almost as long as Arthur had been a Kattleroot citizen. Arthur couldn't really remember a time without him or his delightfully rambunctious family there. Antonio was older than Arthur at fifteen. He would be sixteen in only a few months, although honestly he looked as if he could be pushing seventeen or even eighteen years of age. He was tall and well built up from years of helping his father in the blacksmith's or his mother with her cows out back. His shirt sat taut across him with the promise muscle in places where Arthur's merely hung. His hair shone healthily in the morning light. Arthur thought bitterly of his own messy cut and his fruitless attempts at arranging it that morning. Antonio was tanned too, both naturally and from the sun, despite its growing absence in the winter. Antonio had the kind of Farming Region look about him, the tan, the soft features and defined jaw line. His only differing feature being his eyes, which rather than the trademark gold-brown of many of the villagers dwelling surrounding the capital, were green like Arthur's. His, however, more close to a Hazel shade. Antonio's eyes were extremely captivating, so captivating in fact that Arthur frequently had to catch himself from staring at them for too long. Like now, for example.

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly, and looked out the window rather than at his seemingly perfect friend.

"Hey…"

Antonio grinned and leaned over him to take a piece of bread from where his mother was still slicing, only laughing good-naturedly at the tutting noise she made as he did so. Arthur held his breath as he grazed past him, body tensing though his gaze remained averted.

"When are you planning to head down to town for Market, ma?" Antonio asked her, chewing on the stodgy piece of bread and oblivious to the fact that his best friend had morphed into a statue beside him.

Mrs. Carriedo glanced at the old clock on the wall in the kitchen and clucked her teeth at the time.

"Very soon, I hope." She began to slice at a much faster pace.

"M'kay, well get me some of that capital jam, if they have it?" Toni looked at her hopefully, wondering if he was pushing his luck.

"Capital jam!- listen here, my boy," she began, waving her knife at him as she spoke," do you have any idea how much they sell that stuff for? We couldn't even afford capital dirt, let alone jam!"

"Awh, but ma! I love that jam! It won't be Market day for a whole 'nother month!" He kept pushing but he knew he asked too much. Perhaps pretending was his own way of blocking out the obvious impossibility of his family affording capital _anything_.

"Well, you'll have to wait! Anyhow, what's wrong with Mrs. Figgins' home made jam?"

Antonio wrinkled his nose, "With respect to Mrs. Figgins ma. Her jam smells like feet. As does she to be honest."

Finn let out a loud snort of laughter, earning himself a disapproving glare from Sophia.

"Well, you can dream on Toni if you think I'm forking out for any of your fancy capital jam today! Feet or no feet!" She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, surveying him stubbornly.

Antonio held up his hands defensively, trying to hide his grin.

"Okay, ma! Okay! But you know, I just thought as it's Arthur's birthday and all..." Antonio smiled deviously, knowing just how to get to his mother and Arthur simultaneously.

"What? Oh no, Toni! Don't go dragging me into this! I expect no such thing!" Arthur was now holding his hands up in the same kind of defensive surrender as Antonio.

"Oh, don't you go using Arthur against me!" Sophia finished slicing, much to Finn and Eduard's delight, the two boys bounding to the fire to toast their spoils, "You know I could never say no to that boy!"

Antonio laughed, "Yeah, yeah ma, I know, 'the son you never had' and all that...we've heard it all before."

Arthur flushed and looked to his friend in protest but Antonio only grinned in amusement as his mother shook her head at her second eldest son.

"Look now, you've gone and embarrassed the poor child!"

Arthur felt his cheeks heat up further now that an even greater degree of attention had been drawn to him. Antonio chuckled, patting Arthur on the back.

"It's okay," He said to his mother in a mock whisper, "he knows he's your favourite!"'

"Toni!" His mother despaired, but she had finally cracked a weary smile.

At Antonio's carefree laughter Arthur couldn't help but feel himself begin to smirk too, it was frighteningly easy to find laughter in the Carriedo household. No matter how hard times were or how downtrodden you felt. Arthur was sure this was why he liked spending time there so much. Although in his mind he knew they had plenty of times when the laughter stopped. When they hadn't eaten properly in days or one of Antonio's brothers was sick and Mr. Carriedo out front's grimace would be much deeper set than usual as he pounded at the anvil in what Arthur could only imagine as heartfelt frustration.

"Oh, out of here, both of you! Or I'll never make it to the market!" She shooed them off, still smiling despite herself, " -and for heaven's sake do be careful out in that wood!"

The two boys bundled out the front door with laughing assurances that they'd be fine and a brief 'love you, ma!' from Antonio as they left the house.

"We should get to it then," Arthur glanced at Antonio in false annoyance, unable to hide his slight smirk, "we've already missed all the best game because _somebody_ can't wake up on time."

"Hey, hey, hey! Let's not point fingers!" Antonio crossed his arms, gazing at Arthur in shocked amusement. "You were pretty late yourself, I noticed."

Arthur just gave an exaggerated shrug. Rolling his eyes with a slightly guilty look he turned to begin towards the forest.

"Hey, wait," He felt Antonio's hand on his arm and turned to face him, a questioning look on his face. His friend was smiling down at him (a gesture which only reminded him of how painfully short he still was) his Hazel green eyes crinkling at the edges the way his father's did. He couldn't stop the small spark which seemed to travel from the place where he touched his arm to the pit of his gut, the sudden flush which hit his cheeks, merely to be touched by him. Stupid.

"I have something for you first."

Arthur blinked. His mouth opened slightly in surprise. He hadn't really been expecting anything at all. The thought that Toni had got him a gift and the ominous way in which he illustrated it made Arthur's stomach shift a bit in anticipation or excitement or both.

Antonio kept hold of Arthur's arm as he led him round the side of his house to his father's indoor workroom. His palm was warm against Arthur's skin and it seemed to heat up where he touched him, more sensitive in the places their skin brushed against each others. Arthur longed for the hot feeling in his cheeks to subside, afraid the older boy would noticed how flustered he'd made him. Antonio let go as they entered the room, going behind the work bench to root around in a cupboard underneath. Arthur was both relieved and disappointed.

He waited with baited breath, though he tried his best to act uninterested – it was difficult to keep from shifting restlessly from foot to foot. Getting a gift felt both exhilarating and unnecessary all at once. How can people give gifts in time like these? And yet...he really wanted to know what it was. His mind was blank to what the thing could be; his only indication of it was of Antonio's rummaging in the work cupboard, cursing when something fell out of place.

Finally Antonio rose again and Arthur's breath hitched in his throat at the object the older boy held carefully in his hands. His friend grinned, offering it out for him to take. Arthur couldn't keep up his nonchalant façade any longer.

"Toni, you...-I mean, I couldn't... You shouldn't have," despite his mumbled objections, Arthur found himself taking the object into his own anxious hands.

It was beautiful. He ran his fingers along the smooth wood of the weapon and couldn't prevent the small sigh of amazement from escaping his mouth. It was sculpted from soft wood and painfully neat - detailed even in places. Made from a mixture of wood and metal, it felt perfect under his fingers as he flexed them around the handle, testing pulling back the waxy string.

He'd been desperate for a new bow for ages.

"I figured you couldn't keep borrowing Karlos' old one anymore - it's no good." Antonio spoke, enjoying the look of wonderment on Arthur's face. "So a few months back I started making this. I got help of course; pa did all the metal for me."

Arthur could only look at his friend with an amazed expression as he stroked the bow. He was unable to find the correct words to say.

"There's this too," Antonio continued speaking, reaching behind him and pulling out a sheath of arrows with a leather body strap. "This is actually an old one, but I got ma to sew your name in it here. You see?"

Arthur took in both the bow and the leather quiver; setting them down carefully on the desk he turned his attention to Antonio at last.

"You didn't have to go to all this trouble, you twit." Arthur tried look at him seriously although his mouth wanted to break into a great grin. Placing a hand in the space between his friend's chest and his shoulder he pushed him lightly in some effort to scold him for the work he'd gone to.

Antonio broke into an easy grin, "You like it?"

Arthur let out a breathy laugh, allowing himself to finally smile, "It's the best thing anyone's ever given me."

"Awh, c'mere turnip!" Toni laughed again, the warm sound tumbling freely from his mouth as he pulled Arthur into a rough hug.

Arthur let himself be hugged, both liking and despising the way Toni seemed to engulf his smaller form.

"We should go test it out, huh?" His friend pulled away, his eyes bright.

"Yeah, and you'll definitely have trouble keeping up with my kill count now," Arthur smirked cockily at him, the easy competition between them something they'd grown used to and fond of those past two years.

"Oh ho, not likely, squirt!" Antonio grinned, lifting his own bow onto his back. Arthur elbowed him, despising this pet name far more than turnip.

"You want to bet?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, slinging the sheath of arrows over his shoulder.

"You're right, I wanna bet!" Antonio grinned as they left the workroom. "Loser has to gut and clean all the others spoils, Kay?"

"Deal," Arthur agreed.

They never really bargained with money, or even food. They were both much too scarce and valuable to play around with. Also there was the simple reason that neither of them had either of these things in high abundance themselves to gamble with. The competition was good though: it made them work harder and if they killed more, they would eat more, their families would eat more - sell more, earn more, live better. They were both skilled hunters anyway, why not up the stakes? Anyway, behind this playful facade it was easy to shroud the real reason for them going out to hunt and how much relied on them bringing something home. Bringing anything home.

They set off down the less well trodden path to the forest side by side, the fresh morning breeze whipping at their hair and clothes.

"Maybe I shoulda made you an apron for your birthday huh, Art?" Antonio was still smirking mischievously beside him, "gutting's messy work!"

"Shut it, Toni! I'm not going to lose!" Arthur shoved his laughing friend in the shoulder.

"Alright then, Art, if you're so confident," Antonio broke into a grin and Arthur barely had a second to consider what he was up to before his friend tore off down the track, "Race you there!"

Arthur watched his friend running ahead of him with a look of disbelief, a sharp laugh escaping his throat, "Hey! That's not fair!"

He broke into a run himself, following the sound of Antonio's echoing laughter towards the trees, his new bow bumping against his back and a strange smile on his face, taking refuge in this ability to escape to the woods with his best friend and leave behind the complications of everyday life. If only for that one moment.

Who knew how many more moments like that he had left?

* * *

 **A/N**

Ah, sweet, smitten Arthur...

For those interested - Alfred will return in the next chapter!

Thanks for reading!


	4. Winter Sun

**Chapter Song: La valse d'Amelie (version piano) -** Yann Tierson ( watch?v=Dyo4tNwNIvQ)

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Winter Sun**

The view from the palace classroom window was fairly ordinary for the building. Unremarkable even. Although it seemed for many of his winter lessons Alfred was unable to tear his eyes from it, finding interest in almost anything outside: a passing bird, stopping on a branch to ruffle it's feathers; The way the wind whipped at the leaves on the trees or made the grass shift and ripple like the waves of the sea; The places where the paint on the palace gate was peeling off slightly, and a few days later, the way it glistened and glinted in the silvery light of the morning with the new glossy coat it had received.

This particular morning, there was still the ghost of last night's moon hanging in the sky, the day clear enough that it's silver form could still be made out, a reminder of the way each day rolled seamlessly into the next. It was odd really to have such a vivid sky during the winter, it promised spring, a prospect not completely out of sight now, in February. And it was a promise filled with fresh, well sought after freedom from the confines of winter's icy grip. Pleasant memories of last spring enveloped him, horse riding out by the stables, climbing the apple tree to pluck the untouched fruit from its highest branches, absentminded contentment brought on by the of the prospect of the further warm, lazy months that lay in wait ahead.

Alfred was brought back to his senses by the unsettling feeling of eyes upon him. Sure enough, when he raised his gaze to the front of the room Mr. Thompson, his tutor, was staring hard at him as if waiting for some sort of answer. His hand was raised as he pointed to some blurry phrase on the blackboard Alfred couldn't really see properly. Beside him he could feel the pressure of his older brother's eyes on him too, not accusing like Mr. Thompson's but more wary of Alfred's clear bewilderment at being addressed. He's always had a short attention span for these theory lessons and he had an inability to concentrate at the best of times, let alone now he had to be cooped up for full day tutoring ever since he'd turned eleven. This idea had seemed exciting to him in the beginning. Like he was finally growing up and would be taught all kinds of important secrets and rare skills in this extra three hours of study. His disappointment had been barely shrouded when he'd realised these longer tutoring sessions merely meant another hour of history study or yet more time to struggle through some stuffy piece of literature from way too many years ago.

"...well?" Mr. Thompson looked irritated now, his eyes harsh and questioning.

"Um..." Alfred was at a loss. Another day he might have briefly filtered in some vague aspect of the lesson and manage to spill out some mumbled excuse that 'he'd got a bit lost at the cholera outbreak in the Capital' or 'he was sorry, he really had a hard time remembering what an oxymoron was and could it possibly be something to do with cows'.

(He'd definitely used this one because Mattie had laughed under his breath and said: "you're an oxymoron, we were talking about the book.")

Mr. Thompson sucked in his breath and slammed his board pointer down angrily on his desk, instead turning to Matthew for an answer. His brother didn't hesitate to name the three children King Leonard the second had had and which of them turned out to betray his own father by selling his battle secrets to other kingdoms.

"At least one of you is paying attention," The tutor looked pointedly at Alfred before re-opening his dusty textbook.

Alfred redirected his gaze to the window with a kind of bitter defiance, resenting both his teacher and his brother at that one moment.

It wasn't his fault Mr. Thompson was so excruciatingly boring.

He couldn't really resent his brother for too long though, he never did.

His attention was caught by the glimpse of a carriage rolling up the winding drive into the palace's front gates, another visitor. That was why Yao wasn't taking his lessons at the moment as usual. The Jack was so consumed with these constant guests and meetings that Alfred only saw him briefly around the palace now. The past few weeks had been the worst and it was for these that Mr. Thompson had been filling in a lot more often, or Miss. what's-her-name or occasionally the jack from another kingdom.

Alfred was unsettled by this sudden burst of official activity at the palace. At first he hadn't really paid the visitors any mind - nor the sudden increase in meetings and consultations Yao was attending. The truth was, the Jack of Spades was always occupied with something - all Jacks were. So perhaps in the beginning Alfred hadn't really noticed the increasing frequency of his absence around the palace or of the growing number of occasions when Alfred would pass his office doors to find them locked shut, the monotonous hum of official voices escaping in muffled bits and pieces from behind the varnished wood. It wasn't really the first thing for an eleven year old boy to notice perhaps, and Alfred would be lying if he said he hadn't adopted a dismissive 'let the adults deal with the official business' attitude during his childhood. Somewhere in his mind he knew he had done this because someday this responsibility would be all his and he'd rather push it as far out of his mind as possible while he still could. Not to say he'd suddenly become stressed over what was to come, no Alfred was still as carefree as any young prince would be and a part of him was excited to finally have a say in the running of things, if daunted by the responsibility.

Something Alfred was faced with now was how truly quiet the palace was most of the time. Perhaps it was a result of this slow in-between stage that occurs when a king chooses a successor who is not yet of age. Mergence period they called it, although Alfred's brother had once told him that commoners referred to it as being in 'Stillwater'. It came from an old idea that the flow of royals and chosen successors was moving like a river and this vacant time was something of a no man's land before the coronation of a new royal which then determined the direction of the new tide. It was a rather poetic if odd way of thinking. Although Stillwater was usually uneventful for a kingdom it was also named such for its flat expanse of opportunity. Everything was a bit tense for people in mergence period. The rules were more lax - particularly in trading - but the slightest shift could cause countless ripples that the court (who mainly took over the running of the country at the command of the Jack) were insufficiently prepared to deal with. It was a funny time, Stillwater. It wasn't just that, all the waiting, the speculation; it put a lot of pressure on the next king. This was something Alfred preferred not to dwell on.

In truth Alfred thought it had got really quiet a couple of years ago, there were a lot of hurried meetings and hushed talk around the time of his tenth birthday almost two years before and then it almost seemed as if the court, the palace, the Jack - all of them - were lying a little low. Keeping to themselves and trying to keep things quiet where they could. Or maybe that was just Alfred's imagination, but it would happen occasionally if there was a scandal, a defeat perhaps. Either way, no one had discussed anything with Alfred. All Alfred really remembered from around the time everyone was all stirred up was the Jack being unusually nice to him, often giving him time away from the palace to play in the gardens or skipping a day's lessons. In hindsight, this may well have merely been a way of getting the young prince out of his hair for a while. Whatever had happened, it had been fairly quiet around afterwards. At least up until now, with all these visitors.

Two men stepped from the carriage now but only one of them was familiar to Alfred. He had been at the palace a few times before that month already. Alfred remembered him immediately because he had a slightly different manner than the other noble men or women that commuted to the palace to meet with the Jack. He had a cheery roughness about him that was uncommon in the haughty lords and ladies of any wealth and status in the kingdom. Alfred had bumped into him and the Jack by chance while crossing the foyer to a music lesson (one that he wasn't looking forward to in the slightest) and rather than bowing or garbling pleasantries as others had done upon encountering the young royal, he nodded his head, smiling in a way that was both friendly and amused. Alfred remembered thinking that he wanted to know what the joke was. He'd shaken his hand too, gripped firmly, staring at the boy intensely for a second before smiling in that amused way once again – even chuckling. His appearance was also rather striking. A maroon cape at his shoulders, dark stubble on his face contrasting with the tanned olive tone of his skin an odd looking cap on his head, Alfred thought he looked like a kind of old world hero – a mysterious Robin Hood and had immediately endeavoured to get to know him further. At least until the Jack had sent him hurrying along to his music lesson.

The other man was a stranger, he had a similar physical appearance to the first minus the amused grin. Instead, he looked incredibly serious – sombre even. He wore a military uniform and some kind of white cloth head dress. Compared to the first he looked as if he hadn't heard a good joke in over a year and something about his countenance immediately unsettled Alfred a little. The man turned his head slowly in Alfred's direction and - although it must have been impossible - he had the sudden nervous sensation that he was looking right at him. He hastily averted his own gaze.

He refrained from looking out the window again until the lesson was over.

* * *

"It's not that I hate him- or even history studies really - It's just that he's so boring!"

It was midday and Alfred and his brother were taking a break from classes, winding through the palace hallways away from the stuffy hold of the classroom with its dusty books and screechy black board. Alfred was whining as he usually did after one of Mr Thompson's classes about how he found it so impossible to understand a thing when it's being taught to you by such a dull man.

"I mean, he doesn't even do voices!" Alfred threw up his hands in a combination of exasperation and shock.

"Um, I'm sorry?" Mattie smiled down at his younger brother in slight bemusement.

"In the stories! - He doesn't change the voices for each character or try and make it exciting! It makes it really hard to tell who the good guys and bad guys are!" Alfred spoke to his brother as if this was an issue that had been getting to him for some time.

"Uh, Alfred, I don't think that's really the point of those stories..." Matthew gave his brother an affectionate glance, smiling awkwardly at how naive the boy still was.

"Well, maybe not - but, okay, like, King Leonard was this really big, powerful guy and stuff so you'd think he'd have a deep, growly voice...- like a bear!" Alfred tried to elaborate for his brother, gesturing in a bear like shape as they turned a corner into the 'glass room' (as Alfred referred to it) which lead out into the courtyard.

"You're saying you think king Leonard, victor of the Dread War, leader of the most aggressive army our kingdom ever saw- should have a...a 'bear' voice?" The older boy quirked an eyebrow at his brother, pushing open the door to the neat palace courtyard.

"I'm just saying, I might remember him a bit better if he did," Alfred scowled, following Matthew's lead out onto the immaculate stone slabs on the courtyard patio.

Stepping the short distance from the gaping doorway to the ground outside, the brothers were greeted with the cool winter breeze and the unexpected soft sensation of sun on their faces. The pale White light of the cold season brushing against everything in the square courtyard, from the neatly clipped hedges (which were pruned to the shape of the spades symbol but that Alfred insisted looked more like upside down apples) to the elegant metal table set, patiently awaiting the summer months, and with them the prospects of afternoon tea and languid games of chess as the hardworking summer sun set behind the high stone walls of the paved garden.

"Don't, Alfred. It doesn't suit you," Matthew cocked his head at the younger of the boys.

"What doesn't?" Alfred's brow furrowed to an even deeper set than it had been before.

"Frowning," he replied, smiling softly at the questioning look on Alfred's face.

The younger blond appeared to consider this for a moment before grinning up at his brother, his smile brightening up the sheltered courtyard more than any sun ever had.

"I know," he took Matthew's hand, pulling him towards the stone archway leading to vast expanse of the palace rear gardens, "I don't think frowning suits anybody."

The Spades palace gardens were really something to behold. Even the Hearts royals, whose lands were famed for their fruitful, lush nature, could not help but be captivated by them whenever they visited. Directly behind the palace were first the flawless lawns, stretching across the building's length in a perfect green strip. These lawns eventually gave way to the flower gardens, their richly populated trellis' and beds forming a vivid maze of bright colour and sweet, heady scents. To the left of these was a slight hill, sloping down to where the grass was allowed to grow longer and the formally arranged flower beds to trickle into wild clusters in the soft grasses, currently rippling in the gentle breeze. At the foot of this decline was a winding blue ribbon of a river, which according to Alfred's geography lessons, journeyed a long way across the kingdom, past the palace grounds to tangle through the peasant villages, even reaching the further lying towns and manor estates that felt, to him, so far away. He often wondered about sending a message floating down its flowing waters, just to see how far it would reach and who would pick it up. Just past this river was the rambling - and much less grand - drive of the back entrance (This was used mainly by staff or for deliveries) - and after that the forest seemed to burst into view on the horizon, blooming on the edges of the lawns in all its verdant and mysterious splendour. Beyond that were the equally impressive stables and the orchard but those were both hidden and reached only by winding paved pathways through pleasant gardens and past the old stone side buildings.

Perhaps Alfred took the serene beauty of the place for granted. Or perhaps he had merely seen it one too many times, because he seemed to much more frequently fantasise about the places _beyond_ its guarded boundaries. Still, it remained to be one of his favourite places to spend time.

"The Dread War was the big one, right?" Alfred confirmed vaguely with his brother as he took in the sight of the great outdoors tumbling - almost - freely outwards around him.

"Yes, I guess," Matthew replied, wondering if it was appropriate to refer to a war so tragic, long and bloody as the Dread War as 'the big one', "You really should start paying more attention in history study, you know."

He chuckled lightly but looked at his younger brother in a way that proved the sincerity in his suggestion,

"Ugh, but why?" Alfred moaned, dragging out the 'why' at the end, as if the word was too short to express his utter exasperation at the necessity.

"Well, you know why." Matthew tried to give the younger prince a reasonable look, but he always felt awkward playing the responsible older brother - particularly when it came to the weighty prospect of Alfred's future.

"Oh, I know," Alfred's tone was somewhat irritable as he replied.

There was a moment of quiet hesitation between the two as Matthew contemplated the best way to reassure his brother somehow; he felt guilty pressuring him when he was still so young. Coming up with nothing he instead began walking across the lawn, expecting the younger boy to follow.

"Maybe you should be king," Alfred muttered loudly, remaining rooted where he was.

"Alfred..." Matthew turned to his brother, his shoulders sagging.

"Well, you should, right?" The blond continued adamantly, his voice rising, "y-you know all the stuff in lessons and you're older than me! Besides, I'm sure everyone's just thinking it anyway! How is it fair for me to take the throne then?"

"Nobody's thinking any such thing. If they were, why would they have chosen you for the role?" His brother stated with conviction, taking a step towards the younger boy and putting a hand on his arm, "I'd be an awful king - and anyway, I thought you liked being the favourite, eh?"

Perhaps Alfred would have taken his argument further had they not been interrupted by the Jack's steady footsteps across the even stones of the courtyard behind them. Upon reaching the two princes he gave a short bow, straightening his hair down with his hand as he lifted his head.

"Alfred - your highness, if I could talk with you in the study for a moment," he directed his gaze to the younger of the brothers, a breeze rippling his formal tunic.

"Oh, um, okay." The prince did a poor job at hiding his disappointment at being asked back indoors but decided to oblige. Had he been younger he would have been more likely to protest. Although, in all honesty had it not been for his recent conversation with his brother which would have greatly enhanced the childish nature of the action, he probably would have protested today.

"Excuse me, your highness," Yao gave Matthew a nod before guiding Alfred back into the conservatory and away from both his brother and that puzzlingly pleasant winter sun.

* * *

The ageing town physician had told him that this often happened to people who'd undergone great stress or pain; That they'd just... block it all out. As if their mind just retreated into itself to hide from it all. To pretend it wasn't there. He also said that most slowly begin regaining their memory over time. It was actually quite daunting. How would it feel to remember the things his mind went to so much trouble, hiding them away in its deepest recesses, to avoid facing? How would he cope to remember something so horrible that his own body subconsciously went out of its way to forget?

Either way, Arthur did want to remember. But also, he wanted to make up for the lost time and start forming memories to replace the ones he'd forgotten. The odd thing was, he not only wanted to preserve the good memories, but the unpleasant too. Things like bee stings. Maybe it was twisted, but it was the way he seemed to register things nowadays. He couldn't decide if it was a trait he appreciated or despised about himself. It wasn't something in his control, nor was it something he'd ever really seen prominently in anyone else, but then again, he'd never discussed it with anyone else.

This fact was changing now however as he sat on one of the mid branches of a tree side by side with Antonio. Their belts were heavy with the few spoils of the morning (Arthur was surprised at just how much better the bow Antonio had made him was than the worn old thing he'd been using before) and Antonio with an entire wild chicken in the hunting pack he'd slung over a protruding branch above them to relieve his shoulders. The sun had ducked behind a cluster of greying winter clouds for a moment but the soft daylight broke through the trees and splattered the forest floor below their dangling legs. They'd stopped to eat the meagre snacks they'd brought with them but neither of the boys had really touched the bread in their hands.

Perhaps surprisingly, Arthur's shadowy past wasn't a subject they touched on very frequently and the younger boy wasn't really sure how they'd begun discussing it now. The closest they got to bringing up Arthur's lost life was usually by some light remark by Antonio, only to be met with a dry remark from Arthur or a sarcastic comment in a way of deflection. He was still defensive he supposed, from the attitudes he'd met upon first arriving in the village. Occasionally Antonio would ask him a few questions; 'had he ever done this' or 'did he remember ever trying this' and Arthur knew his friend often got curious about the life Arthur had left behind. For the most part Arthur's answers could not sate this desire for information because he simply did not know them - although he admitted to sometimes being so embarrassed that he'd make up some vague mumble about how he remembered something about one thing or the other but he wasn't sure. On Antonio's part, these questions spawned merely from an inquisitive interest and Arthur always appreciated that Antonio was laid back enough to let this curiosity pass over him so quickly and in such good nature when Arthur replied vaguely and with such little clarity. Although it was at other times Arthur just willed his friend to snap and force it out of him, maybe that way he would actually think about what he was asking rather than hiding from it.

Needless to say, Antonio had never pushed him.

"Hey, you remember about a year ago when you had the pox, Toni? Chicken, I mean?" Arthur turned on the rough wood to look at his friend who was leaning against an overhanging branch, twisting little pieces off his piece of bread thoughtfully.

"Sure as hell I remember, couldn't stop scratching the damn things! Ma was near enough gonna tie my hands behind my back to stop me scratching myself raw," He smiled easily at the memory, finally putting the twisted corner of bread into his mouth. They didn't often savour their food in Kattleroot, who knew how long it would be in front of you before another pair of hungry hands snatched it away. Here in the thick of the woods however, Antonio was able to take his time with the food.

"Yeah, well, you know I spent about three days at your house while you had them, Karlos did too, and Finn and Eduard I think. We'd been together the entire time - we even shared a bed, remember?" Arthur ignored the slight heated embarrassing feeling he felt saying that. There was nothing out of the ordinary about two boys sharing a bed. Antonio shared with Finn as it was. They were brothers, but still. It was only in hindsight that it made Arthur flush a little. He wondered if it would be the same a year later, now that the two were real adolescents and carried all the complications that came with growing up. He was being ridiculous though he told himself, of course it would be the same.

"Yeah, I do remember," Antonio wasn't sure where Arthur was going with this and how it related to his memories. He watched in confusion the slight flush and then scowl that crossed his friend's face as he thought before continuing.

"After we'd spent all that time together I was sure I'd end up with the pox too. It was contagious as anything and I was waiting to start getting itchy too, expecting it. I was almost...well...excited," Arthur wasn't looking at Antonio anymore, but down onto the carpet of leaves on the ground. His companion wore a subtle frown but said nothing to the pensive blond, watching the sunlight settle on his fringe of eyelashes, illuminated by his downcast gaze against the reappearing sun. He had to wonder what was going through his friend's head.

"About three more days passed after I'd stayed with you and I still didn't catch the pox. I woke up every morning thinking 'I must have them now' but I never did," Arthur flicked his gaze over to Antonio for a second, smirking bitterly at his own pathetic naivety, "When I realised the pox weren't coming I…I actually cried."

Antonio broke his silence, smiling in cautious and bemused amusement, "You cried? Art, you cried because you couldn't catch my chicken pox?"

It was with a breathy laugh of light realisation that Arthur replied.

"Well, I guess I realised it at that point" He began with a strange tone of surprise, as if the explanation was both for Antonio and himself, " I realised that I would never catch the pox...that I must have already caught them sometime already and not remembered. That now I would never know because that memory was no longer mine. I could never, would never have that experience...That's why I cried."

There was a stretching, thoughtful silence between the two. The only noise coming from the high pitched twitter of the birds and after a few seconds the soft thud of Antonio leaning his head back against the overhanging branch he was propping himself up against.

"I think I understand," replied the brunette after a while, pressing his fingers into the remaining half of his roll but not tearing off any more pieces.

Another silence lingered between them and Arthur wondered whether Antonio really did understand or whether telling him anything was one of those fleeting idiotic acts you indulged in and regretted later.

He laughed tightly and hopelessly with a hint of self contempt, "I guess I must sound pretty weird to you now."

Antonio shifted beside him and gave him a wearily playful look, "ah, hell Arthur, you've always been a bit weird."

He elbowed the blond beside him softly, his tone easy and warm but more subdued than usual. Arthur knew that this was his cue. His cue to elbow the other boy back and call him some name so the two could slip out of the dark depths of their conversation and return to the easy back and forth they usually had. To the banter and the light-hearted ramblings that distracted them from the worries provoked from the mere effort of getting by. This time was different though, Arthur didn't want to take the cue to fall back into the comfort of spending time with Antonio. He felt weak just to have allowed himself the luxury of doing so the whole time they'd been friends. He couldn't do it now.

"Well...It's just that I am really, aren't I?" Arthur carried on, averting his eyes from Antonio's as he did so. He felt disdain for himself as he heard the urgent edge to his voice, anxious to cling onto the string of conversation.

"Well..." The older boy wore a bemused expression, unable to conjure up an idea of what to say. He sensed Arthur's seriousness and his failed attempt at lightening the situation unnerved him a little.

"It's not just the memory loss, it's so many other things too - so many things that don't make sense," Arthur continued to stumble through the words blindly but his thoughts were moving too fast for him to illustrate his means in any level if eloquence, " I have these different ideas from other people, I speak differently - I'm always so tense and- well listen, there is this one really strange thing about me that I've never shared with anyone before."

Arthur had taken a breath before blurting his last statement and he'd leant in further, lowering his voice as if the birds themselves would flutter off to alert somebody of his secret.

Antonio was still fazed by Arthur's disposition and the sense of curiosity he felt was dulled reasonably by his vague sense of alarm. Despite it all he managed to frown thoughtfully and tilt his head in a way which urged the other boy to continue.

"Well, the thing is...It's just...- I know this will sound weird and stupid - but I can sort of...see things that other people don't," Arthur mumbled.

"…Like ghosts?" Antonio was remembering the story his mother had once told him about seeing his grandma after she died, sitting by the fireplace the way she'd always done before she passed away.

"Um no...I don't think so, more like spirits...sort of...faerie things." Arthur felt his cheeks begin to burn and he balled his fists into his shirt.

"Faeries?" Antonio asked trying not to sound sceptical.

Although, the truth was, he had heard about people who could see 'spirits' before. It was just a very rare thing, so rare it was more or less regarded as a myth. He knew there had once been a girl in the village who could do it but she had suddenly died and after that they didn't really talk about it around the village or in Sunday classes anymore. He knew that there were speculations of whether Old Mel possessed 'the sense' but it was yet to be seen if they were true. It was...seen as witchcraft, really. With a glance at Arthur, Antonio knew that his friend knew this too, as well as the fearful attitudes possessed by most of the village – much of the kingdom, probably - to the subject.

"I don't expect you to believe me'," Arthur hung his head, talking to the thin scatterings of leaves below their dangling boots rather than to the person beside him.

"I do," Antonio was surprised by how quickly he cut Arthur off.

Arthur lifted his gaze to meet the other's eyes and couldn't really read him. Despite the conviction in his tone, Antonio now wore an echo of his good natured smile and Arthur couldn't decide whether his friend was sincere or merely humouring him.

"When did you first see that stuff?" Antonio asked, ploughing on despite the scepticism of his friend at his belief and how nervous it made him that Arthur could really be telling the truth.

"Well, I suppose just one time I was out where the river goes by my house and it was quite late, then I just saw this little... person dancing on the water and then a few others and at that point it all felt really familiar. I wasn't afraid; it was like...they were old friends or something," Arthur was unable to hold Toni's gaze as he spoke, and upon trailing off he scowled, the brief look of wonderment in his face dimming,"-you can never tell anyone. I mean, I know _you'll_ probably call me a freak and everything now, but I don't want everybody else laughing at me or God knows what else. N-not that I care what they think! I just have to keep up the little reputation I can and I can't do it with everyone looking down on me. Whatever _you_ want to say or think is up to you."

Antonio opened his mouth, surprised by the hurt look on Arthur's face, as if he had already labelled the boy upon his confession. As if he'd already stood up and pointed at him in front of all the village kids and yelled some obscenity while they laughed at his expense. As if he'd already cast him off as the abnormal boy he clearly felt.

"Arthur," Antonio sighed, smirking when the blond finally looked at him, his expression dismal, "Don't you think if I was going to ever - _ever_ \- seriously call you a freak - not in kidding or anything - I would have done it by now?"

Arthur took in what Antonio had said and immediately saw through the boyish humour of it, simply because it was completely true. Most of the other children his age had openly called him something along those lines when he'd first moved to Kattleroot, even some adults had addressed him as such when they thought he couldn't hear. Antonio had never done that. He had never bullied or pitied or been wary of Arthur. He'd just smiled that warm grin at him and accepted him. It's not like Arthur was about to go round acting as if Antonio was some kind of saint simply for _not_ picking on him, but he was better than the others. Even when he teased him, or jostled him or poked fun at him - even when they argued sometimes, which they did, there had been a kind of agreement between them since the very beginning that Antonio had Arthur's back. He had felt protective of Arthur during the first few months of their friendship and despite his kind and fairly docile nature Arthur _knew_ he had knocked a few people around for saying something about him in those early weeks and that he wouldn't hesitate to do it again now. They didn't speak about it because the older boy knew the defensive blond would feel weak if he knew that Antonio felt that way or would 'fight his battles for him'. But Arthur knew nonetheless.

So now, with Antonio's twisted way of cheering him up, making fun of him and reinforcing how much he looked out for him all at once, Arthur decided to take his long awaited cue. To shrug off the draping, heavy blanket of worry that cloaked his shoulders for today and enjoy the stolen peace the two managed to disillusion themselves into when in each other's company.

"Well...you've called me plenty of other things," Arthur grumbled but he too had the edge of a smirk in his tone, his shoulders relaxing.

"Aw, that's only because I love you, Turnip!" Antonio sang this jokily and grinned, his eyes crinkling with his smile now that he sensed his friend's relaxation.

Arthur's shoulders tensed immediately. He always felt funny when the older boy said something like that. His stomach knotting oddly and his mouth suddenly forgetting the words it was about to form.

But then Antonio reached out and ruffled his hair, laughing in a carelessly affectionate, juvenile way.

"You're like... my brother."

And the feeling disappeared almost as swiftly as it came, replaced by something solemn and heavy. Like a glowing candle being snuffed out by clumsy fingers.

And that was just how it was.

* * *

 **A/N:**

This chapter comes with huge apologies for lateness! I started University last month and have been swamped with new stuff to deal with so updates fell way behind ! But I hope to post another chapter quickly after this one as I feel this early stuff it still not quite exciting enough, ehh. I'll have to allow for changes in my timetable but from now onwards I should update chapters weekly :)

Thank you to anyone who took the time to read this!


	5. The Warehouse

**Chapter Song: Downstream (Shira Kammen) -** Sieber, Kammen, Fulton and Schatz (Music from Braid) **-** ( watch?v=tiWXrVXOMAU)

* * *

 ***Belle** : Belgium, **Tim** : Netherlands

 **Chapter 5: The Warehouse**

The market square was brimming with all the world-weary life Kattleroot could muster (and half the rest of the surrounding region too). There was the clatter of wooden stalls being forced together and the creaks of crates being lifted from the back of box carts. Near these, tired mules whined and huffed in restless exhaustion. Gruff exclamations were exchanged between the rough handed work men lifting the produce and chattering voices were tossed back and forth between people haggling at stalls or waiting eagerly with the few coins they'd scraped together and put aside for the day. Those who didn't have money to part with brought with them produce or items to trade instead. An old woman held tightly a bundle of around six leeks still streaked with dirt which she must have foraged out of her yard that very morning. Another man was struggling to keep hold of a live chicken that squawked indignantly from against his dirty shirt front. A whole live chicken was something that would certainly fetch a lot more than any coin the man could have scraped together. Even Arthur couldn't help but eye the bird longingly, thinking bitterly of the much scrawnier wild fowl he'd been so pleased to take down that same morning.

In the centre of the square where the crowds seemed to condense considerably, were the capital merchants. Arthur noticed Antonio glance a little wistfully at the condiments stand, the little jars of Jams and sauces in stacked neat rows, clustered together by colour. They never really had real sauces or spices in Kattleroot, other than garden herbs or the weak broths left in the bottom of pots after boiling vegetables. This meant that many villagers were crowding around the exotically named jars with eager wonderment. It may seem strange that the capital stands were so popular on Market day when the people of Kattleroot could barely afford the cheap necessities offered in the square on a normal occasion. However, Arthur knew that several villagers would save up for months, getting by on only what they could dig out of their yard to eat, just so that come Market day they could afford 'capital this' or 'capital that'. It was petty and ridiculous, Arthur knew: to throw it all away for a tiny sample of the luxury products consumed daily in the Capital. It's not that the farm dwellers were stupid: they knew that they'd be better off sticking to the village stalls. But it was as if as soon as those fancier carts came in, laden with snippets of a richer way of life, they were dropping the affordable loaf of bread, raiding their pockets and trading in their long earned coins for a lump of 'capital' soap.

Antonio was distracted from the capital stalls and their usual swelling crowd of onlookers, by an old shop on the edge of the square. Arthur followed his friend over to the shop's entrance and stood by him patiently as he peered into the window. This was a normal occurrence on their trip into the square. It was the antique arms shop, nestled into an alcove between the tiny seamstress' workshop and the chemist. Through the dusty window a display could be seen of old muskets and armour sets, a wooden rack in the centre filled with swords of varying lengths and extravagance, their blades shining like new due to the polish wielding hand of the shop's dedicated owner.

Arthur found these things vaguely interesting, particularly the suits of armour, the metal battered but gleaming, the sturdy breastplates bearing the crests of old families or the striking patriotism of the Spades insignia itself. However, Arthur's intrigue was minuscule in comparison to how taken Antonio was with the shop's merchandise. He'd always had an infatuation with ancient swords or weapons - not because he especially liked the idea of violence, he'd explained - but because there was just something captivating about them that he found difficult to phrase into words. Perhaps, he thought, it was from watching his father for so long. From when he was very little he would sit and watch, mesmerised, as his father would somehow forge weapons or simply commonplace metal objects seemingly from nowhere. Heating up the shapeless metal until it glowed white hot, and then bashing and bending it until it began to resemble something real and solid that you could hold in your palms.

What enchanted him about the _old_ swords however was the element of mystery about them. Had they been used by an ancient war hero - perhaps even the king or Queen - to defend the kingdom during a bloody war? Were they endlessly designed and perfected only to be hung from a hook in an aristocratic manor house? Could they be so ancient as to have beheaded a dragon, or some other mythical creature of the old world? Arthur supposed when you thought of it that way, you could understand how giddy the boy got whenever he came across a really unique old sword or weapon. He knew that had they not been busy Antonio would have liked to have gone inside the tiny old shop and had a closer look at the blades. The shopkeeper, long since used to him dropping in to gaze without the ability to purchase, would usually bring him out some long awaited item from the storeroom that they had received from the palace itself or had just been dug up from the centre ruins. On this occasion, Antonio settled for a few minutes eyeing the antiques through the lead piped lattice of the shop front window.

As he waited for his friend, Arthur overheard a frustrated conversation between a few villagers on the edges of the jostling crowd.

"Look at them all, fighting for a glance of the capital goods. Like the stuff's gonna save em' from starving come next month," an elderly man curled his lip, turning to address the woman beside him.

"Well," the woman glanced around her as a barefoot little girl shoved past to see the capital confection being unloaded off the carts, "I hear it's just some way for the council to win us over. They think if the send a few of their stuffy merchants here and we'll eat out the palm of their hands. There's just not many of us here who realise they're ripping us off. Robbing us blind they are. See those jars there? Out of date, I can bet. The trash they don't eat quick enough gets sent here for silly amounts of coin. When will this kingdom start caring about its people? The ones who are really providing for it and receiving nothing for our work! I'd like to see the fancy capital crowd get by without our potato crop or Rainyoak's fruit trade."

"-And who knows what'll come once Stillwater ends. Right now, with all..." The man waved a calloused hand at the bustling swarm of people, carts and stalls, "...this. We're getting by easy."

The woman bent in to mutter something else but their voices were shrouded by a passing group of shoppers and they were swept up in the irregular shuffle of hurried feet and whisked out of Arthur's sight.

"Okay, c'mon, let's move," Antonio had straightened up and was tapping Arthur lightly on the arm, jerking his head in the direction of the side street beside the antique store.

Arthur more or less forgot about the villagers as he continued his trek across the village with his friend.

* * *

Down the cobbled side street and past the scruffy back exits of the mismatched Kattleroot stores led the two boys to a familiar clearing between the rear ends of crumbling buildings and away from the aggressive enthusiasm of the Market square and its patrons. A large building towered before them, its wooden frame now aged and covered with the green growth of moss and ivy as if nature itself was attempting to reclaim it as its own. The place was far from dead however. Nor was it anywhere close to being 'reclaimed' by anything.

They called it 'The Warehouse'.

It was a hub of sorts and the region's main delivery centre. If there was anything interesting to be had, the Warehouse was where to find it.

Arthur and Antonio had pushed through the paddock style doors of the place with a heave, the familiar scent of wood chippings and the sound of yelling greeting them upon stepping inside. They were immediately shoved aside and forced to flatten themselves against the wooden wall as three burly looking men pushed past with a large crate in their arms, grunting and cursing at its weight. Deeper into the darkened building the boys could see the place was positively throbbing with people, either piling carts or waving coin and babbling about their idea of a good deal. It was Market day, wasn't it? Of course the place would be in chaos. The Warehouse was in no way an exception to this rule.

It seemed like a centre of everything: Requisitioned crops were sent from the warehouse as were most of Mr. Carriedo's weapons. It was the centre of both honest and shady trading, of profit and business, of gain...and also loss if you weren't quite sharp enough. In all truth, the Warehouse was the slickest organisation in the entire Farming region. The council had their eye on it at all times, tried to keep tabs on what came in and out, who was doing business and with whom. But the fact remained, they needed the Warehouse. They needed the deliveries and the crops and occasionally even the service that the place offered to them. It was so integral now to day to day life that it was impossible to remove. And yes, that made it dangerous.

Scooting past the workmen and between two wooden beams which towered up to support the building's high ceiling, Arthur and Antonio made for a room on the left. The floor was streaked with hay and two skinny horses took up half of the space, snuffling and shuffling on the spot anxiously. The boys barely gave the stored animals a second glance before stashing their game bags into a rickety wooden cupboard with the number '3' scratched into it, locking them away with a rusty key which Antonio then slipped on over his head. As previously mentioned, a sack of food in Kattleroot was worth more than a whole safe of gold. What's more, Market day seemed to leave many people with itchy fingers.

"Have you told your mother you work here yet?" Arthur passed his friend a glance as he bent down to dust straw off of his trouser leg. He was always finicky about stuff like that.

"Ehh, no," Antonio gave his shoulders a slight shrug and looked guiltily at the shorter boy as he straightened from fussing over his clothes, "you know how she can be. She's way too proud for her own good! She'd make me quit straight away even though the extra coin I get from helping here is pretty much what stands between us and starvation. We can't earn enough to feed a family of eight on Pa's blacksmith alone."

"She still doesn't realise?" Arthur frowned at his friend.

"She thinks I help out in the south fields near Rainyoak every day," he traded a sheepish look with Arthur, " it's not like it makes me feel good to lie to her or anything, but I'm doing it for them, right?"

"She might understand. The Warehouse isn't all bad," Arthur reasoned. Antonio was awful at keeping secrets anyway.

"Well, how about you, Art?" The darker haired boy retorted harshly, "does Mel know?"

"She knows I'm doing delivery work but... she hasn't exactly asked," he sighed. "Maybe you're right. We were lucky enough to get jobs here underage. We shouldn't go taking chances for honesty's sake...We _are_ doing this for them."

"Hey! Arthur, Toni, over here!" A voice rung out above the constant hum of the warehouses throng; piercing through it.

The boys had been hovering in the doorway of the storeroom when they'd heard their names being called from across the vast room. From behind a nearby stall they caught sight of a young girl around their age flapping a hand at them erratically, her dark blond hair bouncing as she tried to get their attention, the choppy tips just brushing her shoulders as she moved.

"Belle!" Antonio grinned at her and began to fight through the passing people to meet her, Arthur close behind.

"Where've you two been?" She ran a hand through her hair, straightening the green cloth hair band she always wore, "I've been on the front stall by the town entrance all morning - we're swamped!"

"Just out in the forest," Antonio answered vaguely, helping her to shift a box of strange leather straps.

"You know it's dangerous to hunt out there!" She scolded them, reading Antonio's vague answer easily.

"We know what we're doing," Arthur assured firmly, reaching to pick up a strap that had fallen from the box, "we'll be fine."

"Well I worry, you know! You two are the only best friends I have, Okay?" She set the box down with a huff and rose up, smiling at them again.

"Tim won't be mad will he? That we're late?" Antonio asked the girl somewhat feverishly, remembering easily the ripping they'd been given last time they'd turned up this long after opening time.

"Who won't be mad? My brother?" she clarified distractedly.

"Who else?" Arthur muttered dryly but he was smiling at her as he said it.

"Okay, okay, Sir Arthur," she rolled her eyes at him, long since used to his sarcasm. She'd always call him this whenever he made a particularly dry comment. It was... a term of affection, he supposed. At least she wasn't calling him Turnip.

She returned her attention to the crates at her bench "well, he's been tied up all morning, so I bet he hasn't even noticed."

The two relaxed slightly, their tensed shoulders sinking. Perhaps they could act as if they'd been there for hours and Tim would be none the wiser.

"Anyway, enough about that, listen you'll never believe who was in here looking for whiskey-"

"You two! Get over here you money-wasters, you're late!" A loud voice cut Belle short mid-gossip.

"Shit," Arthur muttered under his breath as he and Antonio caught sight of the man who happened to be their boss.

Tim was the face behind the Warehouse. The mind behind its success. The pair of clever hands that somehow managed to pry their way into the heart of the trading system. It had been he and Belle's Father's enterprise in the beginning, but it was only when the man had fallen ill and his son had taken over that the Warehouse really took off. Business became shadier under Tim, sure - but the profits? The influence? No contest. Tim made the Warehouse what it was. In all its gritty splendour, the business was Tim's baby.

The man himself was tall. Towering even, though this may have partially been an illusion projected by his spiked haircut. His form made all the more impressive by the height of each angular, dirty-blond peak. His tendency to wear his hair up like this revealed a short but prominent scar above his right eyebrow, the origins of which was a popular conversation starter amongst locals. He had a constant hard set expression of ill humour and was never without a pipe in his mouth. Arthur thought this could be for show in a way. Nobody ever had tobacco around here. It was pretty scarce around the farming region and very, very expensive. The pipe also seemed to age him somewhat too, the man really only being in his twenties. It added a maturity. Not that Tim lacked it.

His father used to smoke pipes they said, and this was enough reason for it not to be questioned further. He was clever and serious and strong both physically and in willpower. Most importantly, Tim was one stingy bastard who had no time for anyone who was losing him coin.

He wasn't cruel. This much was clear from the way he'd given both Arthur and Antonio jobs (despite titling them pushy brats before doing so). But not cruel, no, he was much too street smart for that; cruelty earns you no trust. However he was harsh and rigid and had the ability to hold a hell of a grudge if you swindled him in a bad deal. Belle would tell the boys that he was a real softie underneath it all but this was something Arthur had yet to witness for himself. Less so Antonio, who, cruelty aside, never seemed to be in Tim's good books. In fact, he seemed to be very stern with both the boys, only appreciating Arthur more for his knowledge of places and basic business. He would readily overlook how much better Antonio was at lifting or shifting deliveries.

"Too many workmen, not enough common sense," He'd say.

But maybe there was some truth in that.

Antonio reckoned it was because they were the two 'good-for-nothing' guys who hung around with his kid sister. Although this was also one of the reasons he'd thought them trustworthy enough to hire in the first place.

"So maybe he does like us! He just shows it in a weird way!" Antonio would occasionally decide. But Arthur had to say this was unlikely.

Despite the aggressive nature of his words, Tim didn't appear obviously angry but instead kept his expression set as he beckoned them over in a single hand motion.

"Go easy, brother!" Belle called after them, eyes lingering on their tense backs as the two sheepish teenagers sloped off after Tim with metaphorical tails between their legs.

When the awkward trio ceased moving and halted in front of one of the back storerooms, Antonio began to jabber.

"I'm sorry we're late, sir, we uh, didn't mean to! And we'll do any work ready! Even cleaning the horse stalls - if that's what's going, I mean-"

"Quit that," Tim interrupted, holding up a hand and looking at Antonio as if the boy's very presence gave him a headache, "we have important business to discuss."

At that point they seemed to notice the small crowd of other workers clustered together at Tim's request. They were waiting restlessly, occasionally shrugging at each other with worried eyes.

Going to the front of the crowd he rapped his knuckles against the wood of a crate loudly to get their full attention.

"Okay people, we're due a delivery run to the capital again. This one's a big one," He turned to address the entire (rather anxious looking) group now, pacing slowly, "It's the palace."

A feverish murmur rippled through the crowd.

"hey - hey now! Quiet down!" he thumped the crate loudly once more until the voices died down to a soft whisper, "here's the thing...they've been entertaining a lot of guests round there of late. They're low on a lot of prime products - mostly tea. - And guess what?" He paused his pacing to raise his eyebrows at the workers. They knew better than to attempt an answer.

"We got it."

He folded his arms and waited for the workers to digest this. The workers digested, taking care to keep a more quiet volume than before as they turned to mutter to one another.

"So, Ernie, I need you and your team as lifters for this. Tea leaves are light as a feather and your lot are educated enough not to go licking any windows while you're there. George, you'll take the horse - you're a steady rider and not too awful to look at should you bump into any royalty. Harold, you take the other...And you, turnip-boy," Arthur jumped a little at being addressed (wincing slightly at the hideous take on his nickname) "you go too. If anyone's taking these things inside he's your boy. He looks young enough to at least get a little royal sympathy for us country lot. He can do the talking too - should you need it - Might as well make some use of that pretty accent of his."

Arthur swapped a look with Antonio, whose role in all this had yet to be mentioned. Truthfully, Arthur was surprised to be included, though he couldn't decide whether to be pleased that he was thought of as capable or offended that he was being ordered about like cattle and told he still had a baby face. What's more, the idea of actually going to the Spades palace was very daunting. It was a place Arthur had been certain he'd never see. Not from inside the gates anyway.

"I think you all know how important this is. You need to understand this, though. These people don't _want_ our service; they _need_ it. Capital suppliers simply don't have our resources and so they've turned to peasant trade firsthand. Sure I couldn't give a rat's ass that they've run out of their precious earl grey but at the end of the day, we need their business. We have to at least create the idea that we aren't the rough and ready group of dodgy dealers they think we are. God above, it's tea, we're delivering, not stolen horses, they can at least give us that," he continued to prep the employees, pausing every few moments to take a drag from his pipe, "this happens tomorrow, you clear? So no lazy bastards are rolling in here anytime after eight, got it?"

There were firm nods of approval and the excited murmurs at the prospect of a delivery to the palace itself passed between the people in the cluster.

"Uh, sorry to ask, sir, but what do I have to do?" Antonio tried to phrase the question tactfully, his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Hm? Oh..." Tim seemed to acknowledge the dark haired boy for the first time, eyeing him up and down thoughtfully, "you stay on this end. Help pack the carts and shift the goods. That's it for now. Think you too girls can handle being separated for that long?" He was speaking sarcastically to them at the end, although it was hard to tell from tone alone.

Arthur remembered him using the 'girls' gag a few weeks earlier when he'd asked the two of them if they even followed each other into restrooms the way the women workers did. Arthur had returned the comment with stony silence, however Antonio, oblivious to tone at the best of times, took him literally and explained in detail and with too much enthusiasm that this was not the case, save for once about a year before when the two had both been fit to burst and had then stood in the washroom for about ten minutes arguing over who got to go first.

Thankfully, this time Antonio managed to take some kind of hint and merely nodded shortly in answer to the question.

"Yes, sir," He muttered.

"You can cut the seals on the crates too," Tim added as an afterthought, "you're decent with a knife."

The tall man walked away at that, still deep in thought.

Antonio's face lit up as if he had just been given a huge compliment, watching his boss leave them with a bewildered expression. He let his grin subside and gave Arthur a look.

"You excited then?" He smiled cheerfully at the younger boy.

"About going to the palace?" Arthur asked, kicking himself for giving the same distracted clarification he'd given Belle stick for doing just minutes before.

"Yeah," Antonio nodded, "You looking forward to actually seeing it?"

Arthur rubbed his temple, his mind feeling a little cloudy.

"Yes...Maybe. I don't know." Arthur mumbled, not sure if he was anticipating or apprehending the event, "are you angry that Tim's making you stay?"

"Nah, old Tim's just trying to make me mad, but staying's probably easier for me - and he's got me doing the shifting so I can't be as worthless as he makes out!" Antonio shrugged and gave his easygoing smile genuinely, "besides, the capital...the palace...It's a different world right? Seeing all that at once when I've never been anywhere more built up than this town...I dunno."

Arthur considered the older boy's reasoning.

"A different world..." He repeated his friend's words, "...I guess you're right."

* * *

 **A/N** : Another Arthur heavy chapter! But if you stick around, the next is one of my favourites I've written so far :)

Thank you so much to those who have taken time to review, follow or favourite, it really brightens my day and encourages me to post more! :D


	6. A Different World

**Chapter Song** : Sufjan Stevens - **He Woke Me Up Again** ( watch?v=yeBcfjH9PaY)

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 **Chapter 6: A Different World  
**

The next morning materialised in front of Arthur faster than he'd anticipated and it rose up unexpectedly with the washed out winter sun and the whipping early morning breeze. He hadn't dared to sleep in as he had done the day before and he left the house with the soft sleeping breaths of Mel and Peter still reverberating around the cottage airily. He paused to glance into his brother's crib at the little infant sleeping there, legs stretched out, thumb firmly lodged in his mouth. He apologised inwardly for not spending much time at home of late.

The Warehouse was already alive and pulsing when Arthur reached it and truthfully, he could imagine the place in no other way - as if it was some tireless whirring power source fuelling the entire town square; The entire farming region.

No time had been wasted in organising the carts - which were stacked high with mostly sacks of tea leaves. Arthur concluded that they must drink a lot of tea in the capital; the amount that was piled onto those carts. It was a shame to see it all go. In Kattleroot they never really bothered with it and Arthur didn't drink it frequently but he was very fond of it. It had a reassuring taste, he thought. In fact, on Market day, while Antonio gazed at the Capital jams and spices, Arthur was surely gazing at the tea. Sometimes they imported it from the other kingdoms and they'd sell it in exotic flavours that Arthur found hard to imagine accompanying the subtle, warm taste of the ordinary leaves but that he was inexplicably compelled to try. Maybe he would one day.

Arthur was hoisted onto the back of the second cart like one of the sacks of tea leaves and struggled to find a comfortable arrangement amongst the produce in the rather full, cramped space. As the final preparations were made he eyed the sky warily, the soft sun of the early morning had been replaced by a much more familiar grey overcast. He just prayed it wouldn't rain, for the sake of himself and the tea leaves.

He noticed Antonio, who was helping pass over yet more sacks and crates, pausing to squint up at the darkening sky above them. They caught each others' eye and Antonio pulled a face. He raised his eyes upwards again and crossed his fingers at the sky.

It took Arthur a second to realise that his friend was praying for the exact opposite that he was, and quite rightly too. While Arthur had been concerned about getting a little damp in the back of the cart, Antonio was thinking about the farms. About the crops, the fields, the humble patches in people's back yards. He was thinking about all the hungry stomachs, the weary, disappointed faces when a crop withered and died... the joy and relief when you dug up a handful of healthy potatoes or carrots. That was what mattered. Arthur immediately felt guilty; he hadn't known himself to be this shallow before.

He returned his friend's wary smile as Antonio looked at him again, setting down the crate he was holding.

A shout was passed from the front cart and Arthur noticed Tim standing by the Warehouse back entrance give a firm nod and raise a hand, taking his pipe out of his mouth as he did so.

"Everything's set! Move out, boys! And look sharp," his voice rose to be heard above the din of the horses whining and the creaks of the carts, "the sooner the Capitals are eating out of the palms of our hands...the better."

The first cart began pulling away down the beaten road but just before Arthur's followed, Belle, appearing seemingly from thin air, ran over to the side of his cart, Antonio just behind.

"Tell us what it's like, kay?" She grinned at him, leaning against the splintering wooden side of the cart and gripping the bent wood boards excitedly.

"Of course, I don't know how much I'll see though..." He hated to disappoint the excitement reflected in his friend's shining eyes.

"No matter!- But tell us everything! It's not like we're ever going to get any closer to it," her eager tone didn't falter at Arthur's words.

The second horse began to pull away after the leading cart and Arthur was being simultaneously carried away from his friends.

"See ya later, Arthur!" Antonio smiled at him, waving.

He waved back, watching them both as they saw him off with beaming smiles. He kept waving until his arm ached and until the two of them were nothing but blurry ink stains in the distance on the shrinking string of a road, the Warehouse a matchbox and the town no more than a cluster of ramshackle dollhouses.

* * *

The Cerulean river - that was its name... or at least it was, until that name was more or less forgotten. It was just 'the river' to most, its fame so commonplace that it didn't even require a title at all. It was the mother of all rivers in the Spades Kingdom and breathtaking in its continuous variety, the places where it widened and seemed to swallow up each side of the land, or when it babbled mildly over the rocks, practically a stream and only a whisper of it's true volume. Said river was currently humming with wildlife as it wound through the south woods of the palace grounds.

Alfred was stretched out on his stomach, a hand trailing in the rushing waters as the silver flash of a fish flitted by beneath the surface. Somewhere nearby a grasshopper hummed insistently. A tall flower (or maybe it was a weed? It was pretty enough to be a flower, Alfred thought) tickled his chin and the long grasses brushed against his bare arms, exposed from the rolled up sleeves of his white shirt.

He stopped gazing at the flowing body of water and rolled onto his back. The sky was darker than before, the clouds slowly moving over the pale sun. The air seemed suddenly cooler than it had been moments before. It looked as if any second now the thick blanket of clouds would open up and shed their weighty contents down over both Alfred and the river.

Alfred frowned worriedly; if it rained he'd be fetched and pulled inside for sure. In fact, he was surprised this hadn't happened already. Being let outside in the cold season was an immense rarity let alone without Georgia or another chaperone. Although Alfred expected she wasn't far off. She was a good nurse. She always knew when to give Alfred space when he was brooding. It wasn't often he was ill tempered but when the mood took him that way he just hated to be cooped up inside.

And the mood was taking him now.

He'd just sat through a long and frustrating literature class. His brother hadn't even been there to ease the pressure, he was probably riding or weapons training as he often got to. That sounded so much more exciting than studying old writers! Either way, the class was being taken by Yao who Alfred was pleased to be taught by for the first time in weeks. But Yao was short tempered with the boy and even dismissed him early when he declared them to be 'getting nowhere'. This disheartened Alfred, who did try to be interested in Literature. It was just difficult sometimes.

The previous day when he'd spoken to the Jack in his study he'd introduced him to 'Lord Ardnan' - the course noble he'd been so captivated by on previous visits. Although, Yao had clearly forgotten that they had already been introduced. The meeting baffled Alfred. He couldn't help picking over what had passed now, the same way he'd seen hens picking over the grit and dirt for grains of feed.

 _"Ah, your highness, I trust you are in good health?" A bow of the head, a slight quirk of the brow._

The same amused smile had greeted him even in the simple passing of pleasantries exchanged at the beginning of the meeting. Then again, this was the easiest part, for Alfred was accustomed to people asking after his health and his answer never altered.

 _"I'm well, thank you."_

He'd answered a few more civil questions on the weather and his studies before he was surprised by a few less simple ones on the future that he mumbled answers to vaguely, his mind most occupied with his discomfort at the expectancy of the Jack and the fact that he still hadn't eaten any lunch.

 _"Yao tells me the palace is quiet for you mostly - that it can be lonely for a boy your sort of age. Of course that will change - but there's nothing wrong in finding comfort in certain things, things which won't change - a bit of solidity of state. Would you not agree, hm?"_

Alfred wasn't sure what solidity of state meant. He wasn't sure what Sir Ardnan was implying altogether. That Alfred should be lonely here, or shouldn't be?

 _"I have my brother..." Alfred's reply was uncertain and he became aware that he was switching his weight from foot to foot - the same thing he did when excited, however this time it seemed reversed somehow._

 _Ardnan laughed, not loudly or particularly roughly as his manner suggested, but with a reserved nature - as if the joke was mostly with himself - which it must have been, Alfred thought, as nothing he had said seemed particularly funny to him and Yao certainly wasn't laughing._

 _"Your brother, how true," His eyes retained the amusement even as the initial laughter died. "Although, you must know even he will not be by your side always - no, he cannot, will not be a constant support to you, your highness, in the future. He has his own duties - isn't that right? So... then what?"_

 _Alfred thought long and hard about what was being asked of him, a frown forming between his brows in the effort of comprehension._

 _"I am..." His uncertainty was even greater with the emergence of his next statement and he looked to Yao, who had been ominously silent throughout, before continuing as if seeking permission or approval of some for."...To be married?"_

 _Alfred thought he saw Yao make a short nod as Ardnan sat back, seemingly satisfied._

 _"Of course, that's correct - but not to be troubled with that now - that's a later affair, is it not?"_

 _The lord smiled at Alfred this time in a way he thought was supposed to be friendly but still managed to make him nervous and render him temporarily timid. A furtive smile passed unsurely over Alfred's mouth in response._

In the end he'd signed some wordy agreement and tripped out of the office, the Jack having further important matters to discuss with Lord Ardnan. He just wandered forlornly in the direction of the kitchens, feeling younger and more incompetent than ever.

He was normally good at talking to people. Great even. He was confident and had a cheerful ease around most strangers - usually becoming _too_ comfortable rather than the other way around. That didn't explain why this Lord Ardnan unnerved him so. Nor why he felt the need to try and impress him so much.

Not that it mattered. He was just a child, right? Not much he could do to impress anyone right now. That's the way it was. He liked the security being young offered. Well, it was a mix of freedom and security really - a rare commodity. But he just hated feeling inferior. He just... wanted to be great! How could he be great when he was still so young?

He pouted and plucked a daisy from the earth beside him, twirling it in his hands.

The sound of iron wheels pulling into the rear drive of the palace in the distance distracted Alfred from the tiny flower. He craned his neck in interest at the approaching delivery carts.

A shipment from the Capital? No, perhaps not, the carts were smaller and more worn. His mind was blank.

Who if not the Capital?

Alfred sat up to better see, dusting his hands on his trousers. Still not content with the view, he eyed the tree beside him and began to climb, swinging himself with ease onto its lowest branches. If there was one thing he was great at, it was climbing trees.

The young prince scrambled up a bit higher, straddling a somewhat thin branch which protruded out a little further than the others. From here he could watch the approaching carts and the delivery men shifting things off them very easily. He was already listening to the steady horse's hooves and the warm exchanges between the deliverers in their raw country accents.

No longer the object of his interest, he dropped the daisy in the water below and it bobbed slowly away.

* * *

Arthur gazed at the looming Spades Palace with wide eyes. It was bigger than he'd expected.

They had passed through the Capital briefly to get there, not the centre but the outskirts. The backstreets alone were grander than any town Arthur had ever seen. The buildings were architecturally stunning, each one in perfect condition, and standing straight as if proud to be part of their kingdoms most important city. The neat cobbles of the streets sounded almost otherworldly against the horse's hooves to Arthur, who was much more accustomed to the soft thump of dusty dirt or the irregular clatter of loose stone. They'd caught sight of a bell tower as they'd rambled past, its brass bell gleaming and huge, making the rusty contraption in the town square look like nothing more than a child's noisemaker.

There were people everywhere and Arthur did his best not to stare at them as he passed on the carts rear, his legs dangling off the back.

They were much...neater than those in the villages. There was a certain aspect of precision about them, of civil control. They wore fancy dresses and tailored suits and the women sported piled hairdos that must have taken hours of effort to arrange - a lot more, he imagined, to sustain such works of art for any decent length of time. On their feet were expensive looking shoes that shone as bright as the metal carriage wheels. There were also working men though - some beggars too, Arthur noticed - and merchants on rickety stands not unlike those in Kattleroot. The poor were everywhere, Arthur realised. Even the inhabitants of the 'royal city', centre of culture and wealth, could not escape the festering grip of poverty.

The Palace however, was something else entirely. Approaching it from behind, it still did not fail to take Arthur's breath away. He didn't think he'd ever forget the moment they burst from the shelter of the wood's trees and the capital's high Walls and found themselves on the lengthy back road, the grand Palace shimmering into view. It's sloped slate roofs and straight stone walls materialising majestically on the horizon. It was shaped like a 'U', although drawing up from behind it was the other way around. But this description was only a basis for its intricate design. The large central building towered up like a stack of cards, balconies jutting out from it's even walls and almost purposefully spawned weaving ivy climbing the side of the building cautiously. It made Arthur think of the Warehouse, although the comparison in terms of grandeur was null and void.

The two other 'wings' which stretched back from the palace were more uniform but still boasted towers and extended window seats and high, peering attic windows. In Arthur's vision now, directly at the back of the house was a wide conservatory, it's transparent walls glinting like jewels against the brief interruption of the sun, which had broken through the dismal clouds and now fell in a few potent rays onto the Palace's roof, as if the place was some sacred ground over which no clouds dared loom and no rain dared fall...And around this splendid fortress rolled seemingly endless cascading fields and hills, a flash of water through some trees beside him that seemed to weave out of sight somewhere further ahead.

As they drew up a lot closer to the Palace the water came into sight yet again and Arthur made it out to be a river. Following the movement of the water with his eyes he saw a tiny flower float by on its surface.

From his tree, Alfred watched curiously as the carts pulled into the drive.

* * *

Unloading the carts had been a fairly simple, if flustering task. Arthur had assisted where he could, passing down sacks from the cart to those waiting below, although the older, more able workers had little trouble in doing this without his help. He felt almost a little useless for a while, finding few tasks he could involve himself with that didn't feature getting in someone's way or slowly someone down. As it was, some of the kitchen servants were helping to take the produce into the pantry which sped up the process further. He seemed to be serving his purpose either way; he'd noticed a few of the palace staff glance at him uncertainly, a little unnerved, just as Tim had hoped. It wasn't helped by the fact that Arthur looked so much younger than he actually was - a fourteen year old doing deliveries wasn't wholly uncommon - not at all - but they probably thought he was about twelve or younger. He just tried his best to look competent. He didn't want to look young and incapable. That was just embarrassing.

The whole operation was going rather smoothly until one of the horses, Clover, began fussing. To be fair to the poor creature, she hadn't been fed or watered since setting off. Neither had any of them - not that they had expected any such thing - but in saying so, none of them had been lugging a full creaking cart of produce and an array of weighty workmen on their backs.

She began to twist and struggle in her reigns, whining loudly. Those nearby tried their best to calm her, patting her side or tugging at her reigns to stop her pulling, but her aggravation only grew. A palace maid stepped in, having noticed the fuss with the mare.

"Your horse is thirsty," she confirmed, taking a bag of tea leaves from Arthur's hands, "there is a river just past those trees - you might have seen it on your way - let it drink there for a while."

Arthur, considering himself nominated for this task, nodded and began to free Clover of her reigns. Remembering what Tim had said about his voice, he glanced at her again.

"Thank you, ma'am," He lowered his head once again courteously as he finally undid the knot in the restless horse's reigns.

She squinted thoughtfully at his accent before supposedly dismissing it in her mind and walking away with the sack of leaves.

It felt a bit wrong, purposefully trying to get people's attention like this and he suddenly felt a swell of resentment for Tim for encouraging him to emphasise his differences. Perhaps part of him got some degree of...satisfaction from the bafflement of these high class staff members but it was less confusion as it was a subtle discomfort at Arthur's irregularity in terms of a peasant delivery boy. They didn't understand him, so they felt it best to be distant. Of course, they weren't exactly chummy with any of them - as had been illustrated by Tim: They didn't want their service. They looked down on them. It was absurd that even the servants whose backgrounds could have only been vaguely less humble than their own saw them as far below them, wallowing with the sad, drooping dregs of society.

Arthur led Clover down away from the bustle of workmen and to the edge of trees at the side of the drive. He could already hear the babbling trickle of moving water nearby and continued through the greenery by ear until he found the grassy bank of the river.

Winding the trailing end of Clover's rope around a tree and double knotting it firmly, he took an opportunity to collapse on the grass of the riverbank. His attention was captured by the dryness of his own throat and he followed Clover's example in leaning over the edge of the shallow, clear water. He cupped his hands a little below the rippling surface. Boy and horse both drank greedily.

Having sated his immediate thirst, Arthur leant back on the rough tree trunk behind him, the same one he'd secured Clover to. He watched as she raised her head from the water, ears twitching contentedly.

Soon he wasn't looking at the horse anymore but at the Spades palace visible through a gap in the trees. It seemed so close. If he really, really tried, Arthur could imagine that sitting here by the river he was part of this rich and other-worldly royal life. He could almost envisage that the palace and all this tranquil perfection around it was where he spent his days. That he wasn't on a delivery, but enjoying a leisurely breather out in his own gardens. He wanted to laugh at the notion. To be brutally truthful, he wasn't sure it would suit him, such ease of living. It was probably just the 'life's a game' attitude he and Antonio upheld, but such luxury seemed to lack challenge. Of course, if you were king or queen there certainly would be challenges, but such responsibility was no more appealing than the dullness of privilege.

Arthur flinched suddenly, his spine prickling. Unsure where his sudden sense of alarm had come from, he glanced around. He had the unnerving feeling of being watched.

As if inspired by this thought, a branch somewhere nearby made a drawn out cracking sound. There was an intake of breath and another long creak followed by splintering of sorts.

Arthur leapt to his feet, eyes now scouring the thin canopy above.

Without warning the branch of a tree beside him cracked again and broke off completely, falling however with what sounded like a very human cry.

"What in the-?!" Arthur took a step back placing a paranoid hand on Clover's rope.

The shattered branch itself was now floating in bits downstream and whoever had inhabited it was dusting themselves off on the bank of the opposite side.

"Oops..." The tousled boy mumbled to himself.

Arthur tried to piece together what had just taken place in his brain as he watched the other pick a twig out of his hair.

"W-what on earth were you doing up there!? You practically gave me a heart attack!" Still not over the initial shock of his arrival, Arthur wasted no time in interrogating the boy.

Alfred, shocked at falling out of the tree and reeling from the concept that the strange boy he'd been spying on only seconds before was now suddenly addressing him directly, could feel no sufficient answer existed, or if it did it was too far away for him to find.

 _I'm sorry; I was just spying on you and leaned a bit too far to see what you were doing?_ \- No, that wouldn't do at all.

"Sorry, I lost balance - I didn't mean to scare you!" Alfred glanced sheepishly at the cracked branch laying haphazardly half in, half out of the river.

"I wasn't scared!" Arthur sniffed proudly, "I was just surprised, that's all."

Alfred laughed. It caught Arthur off guard to hear it, loud and true, without a sense of forcefulness or that muffled quality brought on by the ever present thought of what might come when the laughter stops. Arthur hadn't heard anyone with such a carefree laugh as this boy in...Well, not really ever.

"You say your words all funny," Alfred dismissed Arthur's claim and smiled at him in curiosity.

"Excuse me?"

"Your voice... It's different," Alfred kept smiling, seemingly oblivious to the curt nature of Arthur's reply. He was hesitant for only a second - "I like it."

Arthur shifted awkwardly. From opposite sides of the river the two boys just looked at each other for a few moments.

Arthur took the opportunity to take in this boy who'd fallen from the sky and shocked him half to death.

He could tell he was quite young, though he was not that much shorter than Arthur (he was disgruntled to notice) and stocky and better filled out too. He was clearly a noble, so of course this fact was not without reason. There was an energy about him that radiated from the rosy tint in his cheeks or the healthy tan on his arms. The way he bounced slightly on the balls of his feet and cocked his head ever so slightly when he smiled; he exuded vitality. Even his posture suggested a cheerful liveliness, hands clasped behind his back, chin tilted with his grin, in such a way that it looked like he was waiting for something good to happen - for a pat on the head or a spoonful of something sweet or for someone to lean down and plant a kiss on his forehead. It suggested an eager anticipation for affection. In addition to all this, his hair was thick and had a similar shine to Antonio's, although the comparison ended there. This boy's was a dark blonde, streaked much lighter in places and parts fell over his face while one tuft sat up on his head as if it had some quarrel with the rest of his hair. His eyes were the colour of the famous river which wove itself through the kingdom. Cerulean blue, like cornflowers. He couldn't have been over thirteen years of age.

Arthur had no idea who he was.

"Do all peasants talk like you?" Alfred spoke again. Arthur noticed he blinked more when he spoke.

"Not where I come from," he felt a little snubbed at the blunt term of 'peasant' - it seemed degrading even if true. The question was hard in some ways, mainly because the real answer was no.

"Where do you come from?" Alfred had been told before about his tendency to bombard people with questions when he first met them but he couldn't help himself. He had an odd sense of excitement in the pit of his stomach because he knew he probably shouldn't be talking to this boy at all and that he'd be scolded if caught, but he didn't get to spend much time with other children except his brother, and this boy interested him so.

"Kattleroot, in the farming region."

"Are you a farmer?"

"No," Arthur thought that was a stupid question but didn't say so. In fact, he felt a bit mean for the harshness of his answer and added: "I help out sometimes."

"Is it any fun?" Alfred was generally interested, much to Arthur's amazement.

"It's hard work," _I don't expect you'd know about that_ \- he would have added it if it didn't sound so spiteful and if Alfred's eyes didn't sparkle as eagerly as they did.

"What else do you do? Except helping on farms and doing deliveries of course?"

Arthur took a moment's hesitation to consider what he wanted to tell this complete stranger about his life. After a short silence he looked at the young boy sideways, giving him a wan smile.

"I climb trees."

Alfred blinked.

"For fun?" His mouth was a tad agape.

"No..." Again, hesitation. A quick summing up of the border between just enough and too much, "to get a better shot."

"A better shot? At what?" Alfred really was interested now. For all he knew, this boy in front of him was a notorious murderer but Alfred only leant in eagerly in the hopes of hearing more.

"Game, Rabbits, squirrels, chickens...a wolf once," Arthur discarded any hopes of confidentiality when he realised that the boy's onslaught of questions wouldn't cease until he knew everything. As well as this, a guilty part of him relished such an entranced audience and he felt his own ego getting the better of him somewhat.

"A wolf?!" Alfred's eyes lit up, he might as well have slain a wild monster.

"Yeah." Well, technically it had been him and Toni. And the wolf was pretty old...And sleeping. But it was still true.

"So, you're like a real hunter then? With a bow and...and arrows and everything?" Again the young boy let off that effortless and expectant excitement. He looked at Arthur like he was some rare and long awaited gem.

It made the older boy very uncomfortable. He was certain that in either one of his lives he had not been looked at in such a way. He'd have told him to stop it if he could think of a way how...The part of him that relished the attention was shrinking now.

He was also uncomfortable talking about hunting. In truth, he wasn't supposed to do it. The law states that under eighteen year olds could not kill and claim game from the forests and even adults had boundaries to what was legal past a certain perimeter. And the woods were dangerous too, which made even the rules in his own village fairly strict in regards to going out there. Such rules were the very same ones that he and Antonio found themselves bending frequently.

"Well, I do happen to have a bow...and arrows...and I hunt so, yes, I am. A hunter I mean." He felt nervous.

The young blond was quiet briefly and Arthur half expected him to smile smugly and tell him that his father was the head of royal game keeping law or something similar and would be here to take him away in five minutes. In fact, he very much expected it.

"That's amazing!" Alfred grinned, bouncing on his feet excitedly, "a real hunter? I wish I knew how, I have to learn archery but that's not 'til I'm older. But you already know? That's so exciting! Hey!...maybe you could teach me?"

Arthur's mouth opened and closed; he was rendered momentarily speechless. Teach him? There were plenty of reasons as to why this would be difficult.

"We'll settle it then," Alfred didn't wait for his approval, "next time you come bring your bow and you can show me everything!"

"Uh, maybe," Arthur decided it best to go along with it. Next time he came? This statement alone was an unlikely. The delivery to the palace was chance. Taking Clover to the river was chance. Meeting this boy at all was chance. That seemed like one too many chances to Arthur. He'd probably never see the eager boy again.

"I'll be great at it, I bet!" Alfred smiled brilliantly.

Arthur, who knew the skill required in archery, smirked at the confident blonde: Nobles. Convinced they can do anything.

"Not if you fall out of the tree before you're even aiming you won't, you twit."

Alfred looked immediately indignant and opened his mouth to cry some excuse when a muffled calling in the distance caused him to whip his head around instead.

"Oh, I have to go," Alfred appeared torn between the caller and the mysterious boy on the opposite side of the river, his previous ease replaced with a more tense urgency.

Somewhere from his side, a course voice yelled Arthur's name, alerting him that he too, had other places to be.

"Me too," He took a few steps backwards, reaching for the knot of Clovers rope.

"You'll come back right?" Alfred's tone rose in urgency as he glanced again to where the voice had come from.

"Well..." hesitancy and then again, the feeling that making promises to this boy would make no difference now,"sure."

Arthur had unwound Clover's reigns and was now hooking his hand through the old leather in preparation to lead her away.

"What's your name?" Alfred blurted quickly, looking over his shoulder again.

"Arthur," he paused realising this would be his first question for the boy besides his first angry accusation, "and yours?"

Before he spoke he was interrupted by the calling voice yet again, though the answer remained the same.

"Alfred! Your highness!"

He seemed panicked as he twisted around once more, backing away from the river now.

Arthur felt himself blanch.

 _Alfred. Your highness._

"Y-you're Alfred? As in, Prince Alfred?" He felt his voice waver.

A few flashing and urgent words floated up in his head, followed by a whole string of them – he would be beheaded surely – or something.

"Oh, you didn't know?" Alfred seemed generally surprised.

He was called again and from Arthur's side of the river there was the urgent sound of carts creaking and horses braying loudly, Clover tugging insistently on her rope as if urging him away.

 _Oh, you didn't know?_

"Don't forget to come back!" Alfred yelled over his shoulder as he hurried off towards the source of the calling. Arthur, shocked as he was, sensed that he would be left behind by both his co-workers and Clover if he dallied any longer, took off in the other direction, horse in tow. And the two found themselves travelling away from one another in opposite directions, the famous cerulean river between them, both leaving footprints in the damp soil.

As Arthur sat in the now empty cart he let his shoulders sag with his weary sigh and put his head in his hands.

 _Oh, you didn't know?_

He'd just met the prince of spades and acted like more of a fool than he ever had to anyone else he'd met in his lifetime. He'd just met the prince and he'd called him a _twit_.

He lifted his head just as the first icy raindrops began to fall, splattering over his clothes and down the side of his face.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! Things start to pick up the pace a bit after this.

I love to hear your feedback if you have any! :)

Until next time ~


	7. Not Then, Not Now

**Chapter 7: Not Then, Not Now**

Almost immediately upon his return to Kattleroot, as the sky was becoming tinged with orange and the sun was falling with the arrival of the afternoon, Arthur was swept up by the hasty arrival of Belle and (although with less hand flapping and breathless questions) a slower paced Antonio.

"What did you see? What was it like? I hear they have rose gardens - did you see the rose gardens?" Belle pounced on Arthur as soon as he was back inside the Warehouse and sitting with his friends up on one of the building's high ceiling rafters usually used for storing goods.

Arthur was dismissed from duty once the delivery had been deemed a success and Antonio, yet to actually ask whether there was any more work for him, had also taken his leave.

"It was...well, it was...different." Arthur, quite bewildered by Belle's eagerness, offered the most accurate answer he could think of.

"How so?" she was clearly unsatisfied with his offerings, "The people? The capital? Well, obviously it was much nicer than here. Everyone's rich in the capital, aren't they?"

"Yes and no."

"Yes and no?" Antonio cocked his head, speaking with real curiosity for the first time since Arthur's questioning had begun. "What does that mean?"

"Well, it's a lot fancier...and yes, the way of life there is certainly richer by a landslide - but there are poor there. I saw a few people who looked in as bad a state as some of us living here - worse even."

Belle and Antonio looked at each other in surprise and seemed to contemplate this concept further. Arthur too had been taken aback by how sorry some of the people in the capital had looked. The three were still children after all - they didn't yet have a full perspective of how far and how deep poverty could stretch its fingers.

"Maybe it's not such a different world," Antonio muttered more to himself than the others, "In some ways anyway."

"I'm not sure if I'd say that, I've never seen anything like it. The palace was...well, nothing like we can imagine living here," Arthur stared up at the cobwebs above their heads as he spoke, stomach knotted tightly.

Belle sighed and crossed her legs on the wooden, hay strewn floor of the rafter shelf.

"I wish I could have seen it. Oh gosh and the rose gardens - did you see them, Arthur? I'd love to see them."

Belle, who certainly seemed to have an unhealthy infatuation with the rose gardens at the palace, clasped a hand to her face excitedly. Arthur was still tracing the paths of pale tendrils over the ceiling, wondering how far they did stretch and reach.

His brain then turned instead to Alfred and his stomach gave a nervous lurch when he remembered what had passed between them. He recalled the things he had told him so carelessly and comfortably. He heard the sound of his laugh again.

He was pulled back into the present by Belle's prodding finger in his side.

"Arthur?"

"Um - no, I didn't see all that much apart from the palace itself - just the river and woods - but I see the same river every day past my back yard," Arthur remained distracted by what - or should he say who - he had really seen.

"Oh, but still, the palace must have been amazing," the young girl seemed to have escaped into daydreams.

"Actually," Arthur leaned in and beckoned his friends to do the same, "there was something else, but you can't utter a word of this to anybody, alright?"

"Why are you looking at me?" Belle poked a finger at herself indignantly.

"I know what you're like." Arthur continued to eye his friend pointedly, despite her prodding him in the ribs.

"What happened?" Antonio was gazing at Arthur curiously, his eagerness now approaching a similar level to Belle's.

Arthur was thankful they had taken the conversation up to the rafters where they wouldn't be heard. Technically, he could have told anybody of his encounter with Alfred, but he wasn't one to tempt fate. Something told him talking to the prince of Spades was certainly not in his job description - and considering what he'd spilled about his hunting, much better if nobody knew, especially nobody on Alfred's side. This was what worried him most. All he needed was for the boy to tell somebody of his 'new friend Arthur from Kattleroot who hunts in the forest and said he'll come back and teach him and yelled at him for falling out of a tree'. What's more, Arthur was sure friendships between princes and peasant delivery boys were highly discouraged. Tim, also, may be more than a little displeased with Arthur. All things considered? No one else could know.

"I sort of, well, I met the prince of Spades... by the river... by accident," Arthur waited for their reactions, a feeling of being dangled over the edge of something, either to be pulled back or let drop by their first words.

"Really?!" Belle was immediately bursting with excitement, "which one? Matthew?"

"Alfred," Arthur corrected, not at all reassured by her joy at his confession, "and please, Belle, not so loudly."

"Sorry," She added with a whisper, the grin not leaving her face, "oh, but was he terribly handsome? Like princes in books and fairytales and stuff?"

"Isn't Alfred only ten?" Antonio added, wrinkling his nose at Belle and smiling at Arthur in bewilderment.

"He can still be handsome!" Belle's spirit was not to be squashed.

"He was a little older I think, but yes, still young...so, um, I couldn't really say, Belle, sorry." Arthur felt a bit awkward being asked about how attractive the prince had been, feeling the two were somehow missing the point of what he was saying and the fact that the meeting worried rather than excited him. He glanced sideways at Antonio, also feeling awfully embarrassed that the person he always compared people to - boys anyway - in terms of looks was his best friend.

"So, how exactly did you end up meeting the prince?" Antonio steered the direction of the conversation, seeming perplexed as to how Arthur had managed to find the royal during the delivery job and completely oblivious to the flush on his friend's face.

Arthur explained.

"He fell out of a tree?" Belle smiled. "What I'd give for a prince to just fall out of a tree at my feet. Imagine - I could end up a queen!"

"I don't think princes usually marry peasant girls they meet by rivers, Belle." Antonio grinned at her, giving her a pat on the arm.

"I don't think they're meant to have anything to do with peasants the meet by rivers at all." Arthur looked a little concerned, wringing his hands.

"But did you actually talk to him?" Belle tried to reason.

Arthur thought for a moment. He could go ahead and tell them, but in truth he was worried about spilling all to Belle. She didn't hunt. Nor did she have such precarious job placements as Antonio and Arthur did; she was family and guaranteed the work - not that she needed it in the same way they did either. She thought getting involved with royalty was a good thing while Arthur knew it was extremely dangerous. He felt Antonio might understand this too.

"No," he formed the word slowly at first, catching Antonio's eye. "No, I didn't actually. He saw me and ran away. I only realised it was the prince when I was walking back with Clover."

Arthur tried to give Antonio a look which suggested there was more to it and he would discuss it with him later. He doubted whether he would pick it up though, being oblivious at the best of times.

"Then it was fine!" She threw up her hands and beamed.

Arthur attempted to return the smile, his weaker and more forced.

"I'm sure nothing bad will happen just for _seeing_ him," Antonio joined in with the forcible reassurance scheme, confirming that the look had, in fact, sailed right over his head - with so many other things, Arthur couldn't help but think with some amount of wistfulness he couldn't place.

"Still, don't mention it to anyone." Arthur felt the need to repeat this necessity, "Especially not Tim."

"Why would Tim mind?" Belle, ever protective of her older brother, asked with a frown.

The two only gave her a pointed look in response.

"Alright, I get it," she sighed.

Arthur rubbed his forehead.

"Just keep it to yourselves, okay?"

* * *

As the three walked home through town from the Warehouse the sun glimmered teasingly close to setting, its last fading rays peeking over the treetops. Their paths split as Belle carried on to her home in the upper region of village and the boys continued down low to the cabin cottages.

"Will you two be at The Goose later?" Belle called after them as they went their separate ways, referring to the village tavern and inn where they spent much more time than they were encouraged to by Sophia. But the rules were slack and Antonio's brother Karlos' position as bartender meant getting hold of a drink wasn't very difficult for any them.

"No, not tonight," Arthur replied, "I'm spending some time at home - sort of a late birthday meal with the stuff I shot yesterday."

Mel had come back late from Market day and Arthur hadn't really had a chance to properly celebrate his birthday with her and his little brother.

"Well, if I don't have to help out at home I might be able to-"

"-He's busy too!" Arthur called out, cutting his friend off with a sharp elbow to the stomach.

"I am?" He whispered to Arthur in bemusement.

"You are."

* * *

The two waved Belle off and kept walking down the beaten path through the village, passing a few others on their way home from the fields or on their way to the inn.

"What's this about?" Antonio was oblivious as Arthur had predicted but allowed himself to be pulled forth by Arthur's grip on wrist without a struggle.

"The Prince - What really happened and why it's worrying me out of my bloody mind," Arthur couldn't keep a tone of irritation from his voice, not for Antonio, but his own state of mind and his idiotic actions at the palace earlier.

"Something else happened?" That same oblivious naivety, for a minute it reminded Arthur of how Alfred had spoken.

"Oh, Toni, wise up, of course something else happened," Arthur stopped walking to give his best friend a look, not letting go of his wrist, "and as much as I love Belle, I couldn't trust her to keep her mouth shut about it for a second."

Antonio frowned and then nodded at the shorter boy slowly and thoughtfully.

"Okay, so tell me."

So Arthur found himself explaining again.

"...And then, I called him a twit."

Antonio had to laugh long and hard at that despite understanding Arthur's stress. The strong, coarse sound echoed around the quiet space behind the cabin houses, filling it up for a moment in a bewildering way that only Antonio could manage.

"See Arthur, names can get you into trouble."

"Shut up, you fool."

"Alright, not the time, I know." Antonio composed himself as they approached the steps to Arthur's cottage. "Well okay... okay we just have to think about it properly, right?"

Arthur nodded slowly, not sure what he meant, "...Right."

"He didn't think anything was wrong with you being a hunter and he didn't get pissed when you were all sarcastic on him. Chances are you won't ever meet him again and when he was called he looked real panicky, so he probably knew he wasn't supposed to be talking to you. If that's true, he won't go telling anybody, right?"

Arthur listened to Antonio and was surprised to feel slightly better.

"...Right," He felt more conviction in his words this time.

"I don't think Tim will find out so your job is fine. Nothing will come of it, Arthur, don't get worried."

Arthur considered his words for a moment and finally sighed.

"Um, thanks, Toni." He shuffled sheepishly on the spot, looking at his scuffed leather boots.

"No problem," Toni grinned at him, ruffling a hand through his hair but leaving it there a little longer than usual - or was that only Arthur's useless imagination? "Who's the logical one now?"

"Sure," Arthur smiled dryly at his friend. "Uh, you want to stay for dinner? It's for my birthday after all...and you're stupid but you are my best friend, so I wouldn't mind having you around for a while."

Arthur had one hand on the door latch and wasn't looking at Antonio, instead focussing on the smoke rising from his home's chimney and the glow of light at the window.

Antonio knew Arthur valued his company. And Arthur knew he knew. He just wasn't good at actively telling him.

His friend's cheerful laugh broke through the silence.

"Lemme go tell ma I'll be late back."

* * *

Mel had immediately asked Arthur of his trip to the palace. Arthur's mouth drooped in surprise.

"Of course I knew," she'd tapped him on the head with her spoon, "I've known you were working at the Warehouse for a good while now, my boy - didn't think to say it because you treated it like such a secret."

"And you really aren't bothered about it?" Arthur had been uncertain as to her feelings on the knowledge.

She'd sighed and smiled at Arthur where he was sharing the one comfortable chair in the house with Antonio, Arthur practically perching on the arm due to the way his friend took up considerably more of the room.

"You're very good to me, Arthur... me and your brother both. I know why you're doing the work and I'm thankful to you for caring about us. You're a smart boy, have been from the start."

Arthur let himself appreciate the compliment; Mel didn't dish them out with careless abandon - even to Arthur, who was practically her son.

"-And you! Mr. Carriedo, I'm sure your mother would feel similarly in the end if you found enough courage to tell her!"

Antonio blanched and opened his mouth dumbly at the sudden suggestion, provoking an amused cackle out of Mel. The woman really was all-knowing.

Much to Arthur's surprise, Mel had made a cake for the occasion. It was fairly plain and not very large but more of a treat than he could have imagined.

As she sliced it up, Peter ran into the room, stumbling a few times on the threadbare rug.

"Toni!" He yelled gleefully, tugging on the brunette's trouser leg.

Now over two years of age, the young child was besotted with Arthur's friend whom he pretty much seemed to wish was his own brother.

"Hey there, pal!" Antonio grinned down at the boy, happy the kid could finally pronounce his name properly, "how've you been?"

"Hungry!" The child exclaimed unhappily.

"Well then, dear, you're in luck," Mel came over to the fire armed with four slices of cake on wooden plates.

She gave the smallest to Peter, who snatched it up greedily.

As Arthur and Antonio were handed theirs, Arthur immediately began removing the raisins from his and putting them on Antonio's plate while the older boy broke off the glazed part at the top and put it on Arthur's.

Mel watched this exchange with a strange smile; these two really were close now. She was glad of that; Arthur deserved to have a good friend like Toni.

She switched her attention to Peter who had almost finished his whole piece.

"Have you wished your brother a happy birthday, Peter?" She asked.

"Was yesterday," Came the muffled reply.

"But we were too busy then," she gave the infant a stern look.

"Happy Birthday, Art," Peter didn't bother to look up at his brother, much more concerned with his mouth full of cake.

"Thanks squirt," Arthur used the same nickname Antonio often used for him, earning a similar glare from his sibling that Antonio always received from him.

"Now, Arthur, why is it you look so worried today?" She set aside her plate and leant forward on her bony elbows, hair falling forward slightly and her expression one of gentle scrutiny.

Again, she read him so easily. He had already decided not to mention the prince to her - not because he thought she'd say anything to anybody - but because he hated to worry her. She herself was a hardy woman, but where Arthur or Peter were concerned she showed a soft, almost weak spot.

"It's nothing really..." Arthur swallowed the lump of cake in his mouth, avoiding Mel's eyes as if this in some way would prevent her from seeing right through him, the lump stayed in his throat uncomfortably for a moment, "Just...some of this Warehouse work and deliveries and everything - I get worried I could make some danger for you and Peter... I just hope to avoid that – not that I'm involved in anything underhand, nothing like that."

He was making a mess of things and he knew full well Mel would see through all that.

Antonio looked at Arthur in honest concern and reached out a hand, hesitating when he realised he didn't quite know where to place it. In the end he squeezed Arthur's shoulder in an effort of comfort, letting it drop to his side again awkwardly. Arthur pretended not to notice.

Mel looked between them and thought for a moment of what could be bothering the child. Perhaps it wasn't about the Warehouse at all, she let herself ponder, thinking for a moment of that you girl the two boys spent so much time with.

She asked no more questions, sighing and wiping her hands on her skirts. She gave Arthur a weary smile. If the boy wasn't worrying about the girl, he should be, far better that than about old Mel and Peter; they were coping just fine.

"What do I always say?" she asked, looking from Arthur to Peter, who had managed to scramble onto Antonio's lap. The fire crackled warmly in the background, its soft glow flickering over all their faces.

"Quite a lot of things," Arthur gave a half smile and sat on his hands.

"That when they found you, Arthur, curled up out there in that ditch you were practically dead. You were burned and cut up from branches. You had bruises and gashes all over your legs and were hypothermic from being soaked through. Your feet were seized up from running and your leg was broken. Somehow, you'd managed to harm every bit of yourself."

Arthur shut his eyes; he knew which story this was now. It always hit him because he never liked to think of the state he'd been in when he was found. It made him feel as small and scared as he did in his haunting nightmares.

"You were, quite frankly, a mess," Mel turned her solemn face to the younger child and smiled now, "But little peter..."

"...Not a scratch," Arthur muttered, having been told this story enough to have memorised this last phrase. It was this phrase that pulled him out of the panic of his nightmares at times. Or when he felt he wasn't doing the best by his family or was selfish some way. When he thought of the state in which he'd re-entered the world.

"Not a scratch," Mel repeated, smiling with bright eyes.

Peter laughed loudly and reached out to pinch his older brother's cheek - only slightly hard - he too, was used to the story, despite not properly understanding it. He knew it meant that his brother, the very same one he loved to hate at times, cared about him enough to let himself get bruised and bloody in the hopes of keeping him safe.

Antonio, feeling for his friend, reached out as he had done earlier and this time put an arm around him, squeezing his shoulders for a moment. Arthur couldn't pretend not to notice this time and very slightly (and a little nervously) leant against his friend.

Mel sat back in her chair.

"You wouldn't put us in a dangerous situation, Arthur. Not then, not now."

* * *

"And did I tell you he knows how to hunt and everything?"

"You mentioned it, yes." Matthew gave his brother a weak smile, "But you know, Alfred, if you were so keen to learn archery you could have asked me."

"But you're still learning too...And you never have the time!"

Alfred was in Matthew's room and since entering had done little but chatter excitedly of his new 'friend'. For Matthew's part he merely sat back and let his brother talk, smiling a little in bemusement. He also didn't mention to the younger prince that this 'Arthur' was most likely committing a felony if he hunted in the woods underage; he didn't want to get the poor boy into trouble - knowing Alfred, he'd beat the information out of him anyway.

"I'm only telling you because I know you can keep secrets, okay?" Alfred sat down on his brother's bed, pulling a velvet cushion onto his lap and hugging it, "Yao would probably be mad if he knew I'd been talking to commoners, so it's just between us!"

"That's probably a good idea," Matthew nodded at his younger brother and tried to give him a serious look. "But Alfred, don't get your hopes up too much, alright? You know this Arthur may not be able to come back and if he does I'm sure he'll be focusing on his work."

"I know," Alfred tossed the cushion aside and flopped back onto the thick lined blankets."He did say he'd come back though so he'll at least try, right?"

"I'm sure he will."

Matthew felt a little sorry for his brother; he was so hopeful just for a visit from a peasant delivery boy. Truthfully, Alfred only really had his brother as a playmate on a regular basis and there weren't really any other children around at all, it was understandable he got lonely. Not only that, he was always so fascinated by the lives of commoners and those outside the palace's high walls. Matthew, particularly since the choice that Alfred would take the throne, had more freedom and had actually seen some of the areas Alfred wished to and could say they were certainly not the things of fairytales the younger child seemed to imagine.

The mattress shifted slightly as Matthew sat down beside where his brother was sprawled across the embroidered quilt, staring up at the decorative wooden ceiling of the four poster bed.

"Did Yao speak to you?"

"Hm?"

"Yesterday," He confirmed simply.

"Oh, yes," Alfred sat up and stretched out his arms, yawning, "And Lord Ardnan was there too."

"Ah, yes, Lord Ardnan is assisting Yao in the preparations towards your rule, little brother – he's come all the way from the Clubs Kingdom for it," Matthew had his head cocked to address his horizontal sibling, " pretty special, eh?"

"Yeah, he seems okay, but I don't think we're friends yet," Alfred sat up, staring at a point on the plush, floral carpet quizzically.

"I hear he's not a bad magician, you should get him to show you a trick."

Alfred seemed to brighten up at this prospect, magicians were always his favourite entertainment at the palace – though there was less and less of this since his parents had passed away, less of lots of things, in fact.

"Great!" Alfred smiled at his brother, though it faltered slightly, "we haven't had a magician in years – father liked magicians."

"So he did."

There was a silence, not an awkward one – there was never really an awkward one with Mattie – but one of rare sadness between the two in which they really felt the absence of their father in their lives.

Georgia bustled into the room at that point with a whine of the door and fresh towels filling her arms.

"The bath water is almost ready, boys," she announced as she began busily folding down blankets on the bed.

Neither of them spoke of Lord Ardnan, their father or the delivery boy again that evening.

* * *

 **A/N** : Ugh so much dialogue and not enough action here, sorry! D:

But please review if you liked it and hopefully I can get the next (more exciting) chapter out sooner than usual!

Thank you guys!


	8. The Ace of Spades

**Chapter 8: The Ace of Spades  
**

 **Chapter Song** : Down in the Valley - The Head and the Heart

 **A.N** : Sorry for lateness! This chapter is a fairly long one to make up for it a tiny bit?

*edit* **The Ace of Spades** = Egypt!

* * *

It was over three weeks before Arthur saw the Spades palace again. Even then, he did not catch so much as a glimpse of its youngest prince.

Much to Tim's pleasure (and to Arthur's anxiety) the warehouse had been made a capital contact, his employer waving the official letter proudly on the morning of its arrival, its royal seal, waxy and glaring.

The capital had lost any communication with the further reaching rural suppliers over the winter and so were taking on the deliveries they needed from Kattleroot's district. This was good news for the town – good news for Tim – but not, Arthur had thought somewhat sheepishly, so good for him and his vow to keep as far from the royal family as possible.

Regardless, he'd had a stroke of luck for the first three weeks, throughout which they were running to and from the royal city on so much as a bi-weekly basis, however, all the deliveries had been only to the capital, with no further mention of the palace at all – which avoided calamity on Arthur's part. Despite this relief he felt over the course of the month, there was another feeling, one which sat tight in the pit of his stomach and that he thought might be guilt. When, three weeks and three days after his first visit to the palace, Arthur finally did end up on a run to the royal estate once again, he couldn't help but crane his neck to peer at that same slight gap in the trees where the river meandered past the road, marking it out by the ragged end of the broken branch on the opposite side. Yet there was no sign of anyone present there, nor an opportunity to actually go down there again – the idea of which was absurd anyway – yes, the threat of the situation had subsided in Arthur's mind, but he wasn't one to tempt fate, at least not without a good reason.

Perhaps then it came as an even greater surprise when he did encounter Alfred again only two weeks later, taking Clover to the water just as he had done over a month before, using the same knot to tie the rope and the same tree to tie it to. He heard Alfred before he saw him, his shoulders tensing reflexively, the hairs on his arms standing up from more than the chill in the air; his entire body reverting to its primal protective state at the mere crack of a twig behind him.

"You said you'd come back..." the subdued voice wavered above the quiet babble of the rivers waters, hovering on the fringes of Arthur's perception of reality. Was he merely imagining the presence of the prince?

Straightening his back and releasing his tightened grip on Clover's rope he was aware of the falseness in his assumptions. No – the prince was very much real, head on one side, a slightly perplexed expression on his face, hands clasped in front of him in an almost humble way. Arthur spied a blanket on the ground beneath the nearest brooding willow tree, atop this he could make out the shape of a half eaten apple and a piece of parchment covered in ink blots. Something about this sombre arrangement in the greying light of the morning sent a small, sharp prick of guilt straight to that tight knot in his stomach.

"Have you been coming out here often?" he had found himself asking somewhat tentatively, abandoning any previous plans at walking away at even the scarcest glimpse of the youngest prince.

There was a nod, his pose not changing, nor his expression.

"I'm, um, I'm sorry," Arthur found he couldn't meet the boy's eye when he addressed him, fiddling with a button on his shirt instead – he thought to add as an afterthought, "...your highness."

"Where were you?" Alfred seemed either oblivious to or unconcerned with Arthur's awkwardness, now gazing at him expectantly and with some unhidden sadness, "I came out here as much as I could to wait – I got the Jack to let me take work even."

Arthur felt himself glance at the ink stained page again, feeling the same small stab of guilt as before and pushing it as far out of mind as possible. Not that he could be blamed for the absence. No...But the suggestion he'd given the boy, the reinforcing of hope...maybe he should feel guilty after all.

"I had other work to do in other places – I wasn't allowed to come here until now..." He sensed the weakness of the answer but Alfred's slow nod seemed to show the young prince's understanding of the obstacles in Arthur's way.

"I wasn't allowed too sometimes – the Jack gets so fussy about where I am and what I'm up to," He seemed to have relaxed now wrinkling his nose slightly and shifting his footing. It seemed as if his disappointment was evolving slowly to the hopeful satisfaction that this strange and interesting commoner boy was finally back with all the strange excitement of his odd world.

"I, uh, also thought I should probably apologise to you...uh, your highness," Arthur felt the need to take a hold of what should be achieved – if anything - from this much avoided conversation which was to attempt to clear his name of any slur on the prince he had made last time they met, "I understand I may have spoken...out of turn before."

Alfred laughed that easy tumbling laugh that Arthur remembered so vividly from their first meeting, the sound of it reverberating around the small clearing and halting Arthur's words before they left his open mouth; the expected apologies of 'not bothering the prince again' and 'hoping he had not caused him any trouble' stayed hanging where they were formed: in the back of Arthur's mind.

"You sound like Yao talking like that," and there was the smile, followed by that slight cock of the head, "Just call me Alfred anyway."

Arthur had been avoiding doing just that for the entirety of their encounter, feeling the weight of his title ever more strongly as a result of his own first attitude towards the boy: as no more than a pushy child. Now he merely nodded shortly.

"If you insist," he agreed uncertainly.

"So..." Alfred was smiling now almost charmingly, leaning further over the bank to address the older boy, "Did you bring the bow?"

Arthur was taken aback for a moment, unable to comprehend what he was asking. Then his foggy mind cleared and upon realising what the boy was referring to he had to stifle a snort discretely and somewhat guiltily at the expecting face in front of him.

"I'm not sure how my employers would feel about me bringing a weapon to the royal palace," he reasoned.

Alfred considered for a moment before returning to his carefree smile again.

"I don't mind," His eyes lit up, "I don't mind because you're back."

And before Arthur was able to get a hold on himself an hour had passed there in the shady patch of riverbank with the Spades prince for the second time in his life. Yet again he was struck with a barrage of questions, the young boy's voice taking on an excited breathy quality which was seemingly tireless, his insatiable appetite for knowledge overwhelming Arthur slightly, who felt he was eternally anticipating the boy's next intake of breath. He wanted to know everything it seemed – what Arthur did, what his village was like, where he lived, even what he ate, Alfred's mouth falling open at how little this really was as Arthur showed him a daily portion, tied in brown paper in the bottom of his pocket. Arthur had to swallow the resentful feeling swelling within him at the other's shock. Alfred was still undeterred however and asked of Arthur's friends and family (a subject Arthur skated around with little detail, still wary for their safety) and what it was like to have a real job and use a real weapon – what it was like to hunt.

Oh, the endless hunting questions – swarms of them in excruciating detail. But Arthur found that oddly enough, he always had an answer – not only this, an answer enough to make the boy gasp or laugh or widen his eyes in that glimmering way, the blue of them coming out more vividly against their grey surroundings. And it was in this way he found himself compelled to keep talking to him, even if he was spoiled and ignorant and childish, even if he made Arthur feel uncomfortable and self conscious – he was one of the most compelling people he had ever met.

Perhaps it was this compulsion then that kept Arthur returning to this place where the river grazed the road and where, simultaneously, his common life grazed that of the epitome of royalty. As the delivery runs became more frequent and regular he observed how hours rolled past here the way they had not before, how they developed slowly into weeks and months which melted and faded into seasons; seasons of this impossible exchange of lifestyles here on the edge of two different worlds. Each time they met the conversation would flow from the point it had been ended as if there had been no time between them at all, as if life started and halted with these meetings - this shady spot by the river the one corner of their existence where time could move freely and continuously like wind. Not only was Arthur subjected to speaking as these encounters became more and more common, but he found himself listening too.

Alfred flung himself, unconditionally at Arthur's company and the opportunity to talk to someone outside the palace about his own feelings. He spoke of his expected kingship often – of his apprehension of the role as well as his wish that he were old enough to be powerful already (an expression which left a panicky feeling with Arthur, imagining this young, frivolous child demanding that the kingdom provide him with something to please him immediately – such as more pudding). He talked of the Jack and of his brother – his only real friend – the things he did to fill his time and the subjects he loved and despised learning about. He chattered with little sense of squeamishness about the natural deaths of his parents and his requirement of marriage looming on his horizon. The latter however was a subject he fixated on more as the summer months rolled on around them – Arthur having long since crossed to Alfred's side of the river by grassy stepping stones, a nervous feeling in his stomach and the urge to run almost overpowering the urge to devour the lunch the boy was inviting him to share on the condition that he did so. He thought his queen was already chosen, he explained, but he was worried he wouldn't be in love with her. Arthur found this oddly sentimental for someone so young and so trained to the ways of the royals and he wasn't sure whether the romanticism of the boy was something he found sensible or senseless. He supposed he would not want his marriage dictated for him. To be bound to someone before you even knew them? That seemed like some kind of punishment to Arthur. So this was one of the surprising occasions in which he pitied the prince and his way of life, feeling his own freedoms more strongly in ways he hadn't ever considered.

It was with a wariness Arthur experienced this series of quiet revelations, sitting just out of view of his co-workers. Of the pure loneliness of Alfred's existence enhanced by his absence of parents his longing for paternal and maternal figures shown not through his direct words but the way he spoke of Yao – his pining for his approval – or his nurse maid whom he referred to most commonly as 'Georgie'. He realised rather quickly that Arthur had limited experience with other children and had learned how to entertain himself from an early age, how to play alone and to fill the vast and silent palace rooms with boisterous laughter. After every visit Arthur would return pensive and puzzled at the old familiar world of Kattleroot and its relativity to the boy who would someday rule it, feeling that all the places in the world were one and the same, governed only by their quantity of poor and the nature of their loneliness...

With a dazed jolt, Arthur realised he had been completely oblivious to this same world going on around him at his present and returned abruptly to the small wood cabin room of the old school building in which sixteen other kids were perching, close together due to the lack of space. His brain temporarily fazed back to the simple arithmetic being recited from the front of the class by their aging tutor. Even in Kattleroot education had its importance, but Arthur found these primitive Sunday classes slow and dull, the room cramped and stuffy with the heat of August. Arithmetic also was not one of his favourite subjects and possibly the only one in which he was behind the rest of the class.

With a start he saw that droplets of ink had been dripping from the end of his quill pen on to his empty page, blackening a corner of his rough parchment. He tried to dab at the stain quickly, panicking a little, his arm nudged his ink pot. He felt his stomach drop sickeningly as it tilted, looking for a moment as if it would right itself before depositing its contents with a clatter and spilling over his desk, splattering his best work trousers. A girl beside him shrieked, leaning away from him roughly, pushing another student against a wall.

"-Um..." There was the jarring sound of Arthur's chair against the wood floor, his table bumping up against the one in front as he stood up swiftly and awkwardly.

It dawned on him that he had nothing to say, the eyes of the class now turning to him in surprise, his teacher mid-way through a mathematical problem, Belle looking quizzically in his direction and Antonio smirking at him with a hint of concern – all the others just blurring into accusing shapes with piercing eyes. Arthur felt his face begin to burn.

"Soldiers!" a sudden exclamation from the opposite side of the room distracted this attention, the culprit leaving his chair eagerly with a screech to cross to the window, hand outstretched to point outside.

There was a spark of energy which seemed to ignite the class as they began to babble excitedly pushing away their chairs abruptly to clamber on tables and over one another, hoping to catch sight of the activities outside. Belle was among them, never to miss an opportunity for rubbernecking. As she stretched up on her toes to see, leaning over a desk in the process, a greasy haired village boy leant far back in his chair, tilting his head to catch a glimpse of what was beneath her skirt. Arthur frowned and thought to say something, his train of thought interrupted by the hard, sharp kick of a foot on the leg of the offending chair, sending the worm sprawling back onto the floor looking bemused and angry. Arthur was not surprised to see that this foot had belonged to Antonio, now observing the wincing boy with narrowed eyes.

In the chaos few noticed the boy on the floor and Arthur stepped over him gingerly to join his friends by the window.

True to word there was a procession of the royal guard on the other side of the misty glass, weaving through the gathered crowd on the dirty street, people parting as they came. Arthur felt, firstly terrified that the guard had come for him at last, ready to whisk him off to the Spades jail but then, after pushing these thoughts away, oddly curious. He craned his neck with the rest of them.

"-Look at the carriage!" He caught someone yelling and scanned the bustling crowd until he found it, gilt in gold and blue and white, pulled by a grey horse, so out of place in the rough stone and wood of Kattleroot, the rustic dirt paths and shambling fences dwarfed by such splendour.

Having a good view of the old town hall from the school building, the class pressed their eager faces against the windows, waiting for what was to come. The carriage halted its path directly in front of the hall's old wood doors, the horse braying loudly due to the claustrophobia of the crowd. The opulent carriage door was opened by a member of the guard, inside the carriage was shaded from the sun and their visions.

"Who is it? Who is it?" The babble of voices within the classroom only increased and swelled.

As the figure emerged from the carriage and bowed it was the teacher who stepped forward now, making his presence known for the first time since the excitement began.

"By God..." He pushed his tiny glasses up his nose," That's an Ace - that's the Ace of Spades."

* * *

Alfred's collar was rough on his bare neck, the scratchy fabric irritating his skin and rubbing uncomfortably each time he twisted his head. It made his whole body feel hot and itchy just to wear that one garment, it's stiff edges scouring the places it touched, the top of the thing just a bit too close to his chin, the centre sitting just too far out from his chest.

He raised a hand to pull at it almost subconsciously, receiving the sharp tap on the wrist he should have pre-empted.

"Leave it be, your highness," his maid sighed from where she was kneeling to fasten his jacket buttons, her voice soft but weary, "fussing will only make it worse."

It was no wonder she had grown tiresome in honesty, as she had been fighting a battle with Alfred - who was, in turn, fighting one with his attire - for over an hour now. Her best efforts to organize and smooth over the boy were very much in vain for the most part, Alfred's wriggling and picking and fussing annihilating most of her work.

"It's uncomfortable," Alfred mumbled with a mixture of dejection and stubbornness.

"Why don't you take a look in the mirror, Alfred," she began to reason with him, a hopeful edge in her words, "It really does make you look very handsome."

She pulled him to the full length mirror beside the dark wood dresser, tilting it to show him his entire outfit.

Alfred winced at his reflection. The damned collar was ugly too. It stuck out more than he'd imagined, the ruffled edges remaining completely stationary as he turned to see if he looked any more 'handsome' from another angle. A big powder blue confection in the centre of his chest, the elaborate collar stood out for sure, even with a royal blue velvet jacket and britches set to contend with. The suit's gold fastenings were too tight around his front, the tails too long at the back. His shoes looked to Alfred like something stolen from a court jester's closet.

"Are you sure this is handsome?" Alfred asked, wrinkling his nose. _He_ didn't think it was, but then again, Alfred felt inexperienced in knowing how to judge such things. Perhaps when you got older fancy clothes with too many ruffles and colours was what was approved of and comfortable clothes were just seen as ugly? He thought quite possibly that fashion was a trial to see how uncomfortable you could be - like an initiation! - some garish show of strength and willpower to prove yourself at social occasions. Well, in an outfit like this Alfred did feel slightly handsome after all - the shoes pinched and the shirt itched and the collar scratched. If he could endure this then surely the card council would see his potential as future king?

"Very handsome, your highness," she smiled resting a hand on his shoulder.

Alfred's attention was caught by an extraordinary sound breaking through the other side of his bedroom doors.

"Already?" His brother's raised voice burst, muffled by wood, into the room.

Alfred turned his head in the direction of the closed door, his brow furrowing. Mattie never raised his voice. Well, he did sometimes, usually at Alfred if he was bothering him too much, but most of the time his brother was almost too shy and retiring in his manner, eyes downturned and hands folded and always, always soft spoken.

He saw Georgia's eyes dart in the direction of the door before hastily settling back down on several specks of lint on Alfred's shoulder, throwing the boy an odd variant of a carefree smile as he looked at her in puzzlement.

The conversation was quieter now, no more than a soft murmur reaching Alfred's cocked ear.

"...but it wasn't due to happen for months at the least, I cannot believe you've sent him," Matthews voice rose to audible levels once more.

A murmur of reply.

"What about the agreement? For my brother's sake?" Alfred was twisting around now, glancing back at Georgia as if for approval or explanation or both. She took the boy firmly by the shoulders to the vanity by the bay window, a look of finality on her face suggesting strongly that Alfred shouldn't ask questions. Taking up a comb with conviction she began busily beating non-existent tangles from the boy's hair. Still craning his neck in the door's direction Alfred found his head sharply rearranged in a fresh bout of combing.

"But-" he began to protest.

"Hush," his nurse replied firmly and he settled for gazing grudgingly at the engraved gold initials on his dresser, glimmering in the afternoon sun. A. F. J.

The sound of the door swinging open with a harsh creak turned both Alfred and his nurse's heads in surprise as the Jack of Spades strode authoritatively into the room, a look of frustration taking his features - he was dressed in his evening finery, the same blue as Alfred's.

"Your highness," he announced too loudly and formally as ever - the harsh sound of the doors slamming shut behind him reflecting the sharp tone of his words ," Come, it's time to prepare for the ball - I trust you know your speech?"

Alfred nodded, any curiosity reduced now to apprehension

* * *

Pushed roughly from the chaos of the school building Arthur found himself swept up in the crowds of the dusty street below. Bodies pressed and shoved on every side, the smell of muck and stale water kicked up from the gutters with the motion of hasty heels and horse's hooves filled the breeze. The only constancy was Antonio's work-rough hand tight on his arm dragging him through the throng, perhaps he wasn't even being dragged but both of them were merely being pulled with the great tide of the villagers. He had to wonder what they were moving towards, what result the Ace of Spades held for them and why there was so much drive in his direction. An old lady to Arthur's left could barely walk and yet she too pushed on, frail fingers clawed around her old cane. The noise too, was obscene, and each shout had the harsh metallic edge of steel – desperate – but with something else, something indignant. Above the street level and its restless stench of earth and sweat the spades flag rose and flickered with the sun. Arthur caught a glimpse of that splendid carriage again; they were not so far off now.

"I see him!" yelled Antonio from somewhere just ahead of Arthur in the crowd, his hand squeezing his arm, "he's going up the old hall steps!"

It wasn't long before Arthur saw him too, that same man they'd glimpsed from the stained classroom windows ascending to the lopsided porch of the square's central building. The wind whipped his robes, gleaming white and rich orange flashes against the splintered wood walls of the town hall. The movement of the flowing fabric revealed the formidable khaki of his military uniform beneath, casting a shadow of his authority over Arthur for a moment. The Ace emblem was pinned on his breast pocket; it glinted as he turned to the crowds appearing untouched by their yells and the push and shove just below his feet. He seemed to look just above their heads, his dark, tapered eyes inquisitive to what looked to be something on the distant horizon.

The man held up a hand, possibly to issue silence, however this request went unnoticed – yet the eyes remained unfazed. Arthur was beside Antonio now, not far off from where the carriage was, spades soldiers barring the restless crowd from pushing against its sides. A mother held a bundled blanket in her arms, the grimy face of a wailing child peeking out from its tattered depths, she yelled with the rest of them.

"They're angry," Arthur turned to Antonio in realisation, "Toni – they're all so angry."

His friend turned to him in disbelief, placing both of his hands on Arthur's shoulders.

"Of course they are, Arthur! Have you seen the state of Kattleroot – of the farming region? It's been five years since any of them up there have been down and we're going to waste out here – you know it just as well as me," their figures were jostled and jolted ceaselessly, Antonio leaning closer to Arthur to be better heard, "It's not just anger – they're helpless, they want to be heard – hell, I wouldn't mind being heard for a minute if I thought anything could change, just the tiniest thing..."

Arthur knew his friend's words were the truth, the village had been growing more dishevelled by the week and food was scarce. Winter had been harsh for everyone and the little food grown was mostly taken and re-issued elsewhere leaving a hunger in people's bellies un-sated by the stifling drought of the summer. And he saw it in the faces of the crowd around him, a crowd he and Antonio now found themselves at the front of, a pressure on Arthur's chest which he now saw was the press of a soldier's hand.

"People of the farming region," the voice of the Ace rose above the crowd without the expected formal introduction casting, for a moment, a hush over the seething mass, "I have been appointed this kingdom's new Ace of Spades and so the personal guard to you and your regency. I hope to serve you and the Spades kingdom in an honourable and valiant way and - I _will_ lay die my life for the cause of the kingdom."

A silence, the first of the visit, spread over the square now that he held the undivided attention of the people, darkened, tired faces upturned to hot beating of the sun. The dying wind rippled the edges of the Ace's white keffiyeh.

"We are training an army," He went on, mysterious dark eyes roaming the crowd, " one which can protect our shores from anything the other kingdoms throw at us, and we do this in anticipation of our new king who will in less than a half decade be of age – our long awaited King Alfred."

Arthur flinched a little at the mention of the youngest prince; Antonio by his side was still, eyes straight ahead, not knowing of the extended relationship between his best friend and the Prince of Spades, thinking it had consisted of no more than stolen glances since that day all those months ago. He stared at the Ace with such concentration, such focus – almost to a point of will – his lips parted slightly as if still amazed at the Ace's very presence here in a rough little place like Kattleroot.

"I know you are weary – I see it in your faces but I ask of you your patience," dark eyes surveying still, "we – all of us – are surrounded by the surging sea of these difficult times and it is our job as a kingdom to turn the tides for ourselves. No exceptions."

A murmur through the crowd, silenced once more the by the slim hand of the Ace, palm outward to the heated swarm of villagers as if to say.

"We cannot know what to expect in these final few years of mergence period but it is of the utmost importance that we dust ourselves off from the harsh winter we've had – and from this dry summer we're suffering from now. Our focus lies with supporting the royals at this point – old and new – for the introduction of a new royal - a new queen - at the start of a new reign is crucial and I'm sure you're aware that my own appointment as Ace reflects this oncoming change and development to our political state."

He spoke cryptically, Arthur thought, in ways which made you think for a moment before reacting. Perhaps this was purposeful, as the crowd here seemed ready, eager even, to pounce at any opportunity – to release something within them which could only exist now as a flex of the jaw or a clenched fist. There was the sense of injustice, of apology from what the Ace spoke to them. As if there was a 'but' coming after all this patriotic talk.

But how could they help but have a glimmer of hope? The Ace had come - the Ace who is the bringer of change, who is the voice of their class and people and who can bring them to contact with the royal council themselves. The Ace who was now talking of the choosing of a new queen - a new queen to rule the starving villages – to rule the starving people at his feet. And to Arthur a sudden resonation of realisation: not just the queen. Alfred's queen, the one he is so afraid of. Choosing her now seemed too soon somehow and jolted Arthur like hands thumping him on the back because the boy he had befriended was the future king and soon he would have a queen and Arthur would go on living in Kattleroot and working deliveries for less than minimum wage.

"- I feel I owe you a truth from the palace..." The Ace seemed to contemplate for a minute. Arthur noticed one of his guards glance at him in wary alarm briefly. Perhaps he was speaking off script or pausing too long. The crowd would grow restless again if he didn't continue to captivate them. "...We have failed before. Failed the safety of the royals – unnecessary blood has been spilt by our carelessness. At this time of delicacy it is of the highest importance we protect the princes of Spades and all future monarchs and court members from such forces who would like to see our council become nothing but dust on the ground."

Arthur tried to rack his brains for a piece of gossip gabbled by Belle or whispered by someone at the Goose of a fatal incident in the royal court but came up with nothing and joined his village neighbours in a frown of perplexity at the Ace's words.

"It is for this reason that my presence at the royal palace is urgently needed this evening for an extremely important event taking place – and the reason for the lack of procession time for this visit, for which I can only offer my most profound sympathies."

Then the eruption came, the one which was stalled for so long, which had wavered on the edge of being and hung in the balance with every sentence which left the Ace's mouth.

Arthur had only heard of procession a few times, but Antonio knew it's value all too well. He knew what the lack of it meant to people in the region.

No procession: No groups putting forward long rambled and hard considered plans for the development of the farming region. No families begging for a tribute to their cause – a dying daughter, starving livestock, spreading disease. No time to plead. No procession, no hope.

Like a solid wall the body of hopelessness slammed against the royal guard, anguished cries fighting over one another to be heard – but how could they be with no procession time? Immediately the soldiers went into the aggressive stance, shoving back against the siege, calling to the Ace to come to the carriage as quickly as possible. Antonio and Arthur were heaved forward and Arthur found himself momentarily winded by the arm of a soldier jamming against his stomach. He remembered thinking of that old lady with the cane – surely she must be trampled in a mess like this, he thought, and it was a sad thought, that feeble old cane crushed on the ground in all this fury.

A glance upward saw that the Ace still had not made his swift escape and still seemed to be scanning the horizon for something, his expression barely even changed by the anger directed towards him now – and this time there was no mistake of course, it was most definitely anger. A guard was pulling him by the arm now, yelling almost in his ear, but by the look on his face alone you would have thought the Ace could not hear him at all.

Something changed and Arthur felt the hairs on the back of neck stand up and the crowd around him seem to slow in his mind and no longer touch him. The Ace was staring into his own eyes.

He felt himself swallow, an uncomfortable dry throated kind of swallow. Through a pang of fear he felt his own hand grip Antonio's, just thankful his friend hadn't been carried off somewhere in the panic. The dark eyes of the Ace narrowed in concentration and time seemed frozen. The Ace reached into his pocket, eyes still hooked on Arthur. An age seemed to go by, the roar in Arthur's ears coming through to him as silence in the time. There was a moment where Arthur thought he saw something in his hand, a flash of white, but it disappeared quickly and he saw the Ace frown for the first time for the entire visit.

And then he was gone. It sounds childish to say it like that – like it was a magic trick of some kind – but that's merely how it felt. Arthur was sure if he tried he could remember the guards pulling the man down to the waiting carriage and the way his robes swayed as he swiftly sat inside and the to and fro between the road wagon and the passionate crowd, not wanting to let the Ace slip away, but it felt like it was so much quicker than all of that.

Arthur realised with an out of place feeling of humiliation that he was still holding Antonio's hand and let go of it with intense conviction.

"Hey – Arthur...are you alright? You look ...bad." Antonio, angry like his neighbours for the most part, broke out of his own disappointment to notice the pale face of the boy beside him.

Arthur just shook his head, not so much as an answer to Antonio's question, but as an attempt to shake off the feeling of being singled out by the Ace of Spades in such a startling way.

"We're going home," his friend decided firmly, his mouth set in a grim line. "Enough of this. We're going home."

* * *

 **A.N.** I hope people are enjoying this story, and any comments are really greatly appreciated as I'm currently reviewing/improving some of the next chapters and am still a bit stuck on later ones. :S

But I promise there is much more to come if you stick around! :)


	9. Fate's Tide

**Chapter song: Yann Tierson -** La Valse D'Amelie - Orchestre (particularly for the dance scene!) - ( watch?v=3QWaNV4EWb8)

* * *

 *** Angelique** Mancham: **Seychelles**

 **Chapter 9: Fate's Tide**

"More wine! Quickly - look sharp - that's a royal request, that is!"

The clink of glasses, a clatter of plates, the sweltering heat of the palace kitchen and the heavy crate in Arthur's arms all coincided in one tired, heavy moment as the shout was uttered by the head chef at the Spades royal estate.

Of course it had to be tonight that the usual in-and-out delivery job had been extended to extra heaving service urgently needed for the largest Spades ball of the summer, draining more food and wine than Arthur had seen before, let alone held in his arms. He'd been at it for an hour, the initial nervous thrill of actually being in the Spades palace long since billowing away with the steam rising from the misty, open windows.

Not to say that even the kitchens weren't grander than anything Arthur had laid eyes on before -as they were - large and clean and bursting with sources of nutrition and flavour and real equipment untainted by rust or dirt. It was full of people too, of cooks and maids and serving girls and platter boys, an image so far removed from Arthur's own situation at home: a solitary woman stirring a meagre watered down stew by the fire. But Arthur's exhaustion was getting the better of his awe and he saw the kitchen not as grand as all this but as painful as the ache in his back and grinding as the repetitive task before him and jarring as the wicked sound of china scraping china.

He'd gone home with Antonio after the disastrous Ace's speech feeling queasy and exhausted. The Carriedo house was almost empty, the family members who did return home during Arthur's time there not bursting in with anger as he had expected, but almost retreating within the house in subdued contemplation. It hit him that the atmosphere had not been this solemn for a good while at the Carriedo's – not when Arthur had been around at least. He supposed he had felt it creeping in slowly over the past few months or so – it was just that the Carriedo household was not normally one to lose a feeling of hope as it seemed to have done now. Regardless, Sophia still had a weary smile for him and offered him some of the broth she had prepared for the boys. Arthur declined, not for its thin, watery taste but the knowledge that if there was a serving to be spared for him it was hers.

He hadn't stayed long, feeling the weight of the house around him settling on his shoulders like damp cloth, a sense which could not be dislodged by Sophia's offerings of food and Antonio's warming smiles. Both of them looked at Arthur in sympathy, as if his sudden nausea was somehow more tragic than what their family must be feeling at the cancelled procession time. Mr. Carriedo had yet to return home from the square but Arthur noticed Sophia glance anxiously at the door every so often. Looking outside, Arthur saw the light had faded slightly; they might have opened up The Goose already, he thought, he's was probably drinking away his sorrows right now.

He did feel awful though, his stomach turning, but it was for his own private, selfish feeling which the weary faces of the Carriedo family only made him feel guilty for. He wasn't sick with the thought of Mel and his brother starving in the coming winter (though it simmered in the back of his mind) but the possibility that the Ace had seen something in him which struck a bell: something which had caused him to frown.

But there was a task to do now and it was better to focus on it rather than the day behind him. He went for a second crate stacked by the back step, struggling with it for longer than usual, breathing hard with the effort of lifting the large creaking, rattling mass with his slight frame - this really was a job for Antonio, he had thought honestly and somewhat bitterly. It irked him to always think this way on any occasion where he was too weak for something – when he couldn't lift or reach something and Antonio would lean over in that effortless way to do it for him, shading him in his superiority and cheerful ease and whatever else Antonio consisted of. He was never making a show or anything like that, he'd just smile in an almost affectionate way and hand Arthur whatever it was he'd acquired for him. It annoyed Arthur like hell: how he could belittle him and yet still be so damn charming about it all.

The crate was taken from Arthur suddenly and roughly before he even had the damn thing airborne and he reeled back with a frustrated sigh from the removed weight. He hadn't been entirely useless this time, he persisted in telling himself; it was just fatigue holding him back now.

The chef caught sight of him in his solitary idle moment and he felt himself swallow as the cogs of his brain rapidly considered how to make himself look busy. He immediately felt guilty for his distracted swimming head, irrationally feeling that the bulky chef somehow knew he wasn't focusing solely on the task at hand. The image of the Ace's frowning face pricked him like a pin in his side for a single moment, a sudden fear taking him. It doesn't matter, he tried to tell himself, even if it's the worst and he's knows I've been talking to Alfred it doesn't matter – I'm not breaking the _law_ just by talking. He felt the weakness of the argument as if it were a living thing in his hands tied together by cobwebs and string.

"You," Arthur felt his stomach drop at being so suddenly addressed, feeling uncertain, he had to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder nervously as the chef approached him. Surely it was someone else he wanted? Yet his gut knew it was him. And all he could think was that the Ace was right there in the palace – somewhere in there – watching the royals, watching Alfred and he hoped to God not watching him.

A stack of trays were pushed into his arms, cool silver against his raw palms, he barely felt the jolt of surprise which came with them, the movement being so swift.

"Help the platter boys."

Arthur paused before giving a short nod of approval, knowing not what this job consisted of but feeling a wave of relief at the sight of a table of canapés being loaded onto platters by boys of around his age. It was nothing at all, he was being so foolish – no wonder he couldn't lift the crates, his mind was so scattered. He headed for the table hastily.

* * *

Not far from the bustle of activity in the palace kitchen, Alfred was trying his best to look dignified while resisting the urge to gorge himself on every platter of canapés he caught sight of.

The grand ballroom at the Spades palace glowed this evening with the presence of everybody who was anybody across the kingdom - and further still. The summer came and the doors opened and the elite came and went like moths to a flame – basking in the glow of the royal palace – the glow of each other. It started slow at first, meetings with the royal court, formal lawn games and tea parties. Then were the balls and dances, the lords and ladies of the kingdom flooding in, circling the pillars and walls of the palace in awe, singing praise to so much as the polished tiles and the sparkling windows – the door knobs or the closet latches, anything that glittered. Alfred tried not to laugh at these moments, having been firmly assured of the impertinence of this by the Jack, but secretly feeling that life in the Capital must be even duller than his own; if they were to get so invigorated about shiny door knobs.

But there was not a moment for door knobs this evening, nor windows nor closet latches - at the Annual Final Summer Ball there was only time for dancing and festivity and frivolity – rubbing shoulders with the royals and drinking too much. The orchestra, an impressive arrangement, was splayed across the room's front platform, the sway and swell of the strings and flutes and everything else setting the way for the fine lords and ladies of the Spades kingdom to float around the room. It felt as if everything swayed, the gold threaded drapes at the tall windows, the twinkling glass of the chandeliers dangling from the high ceiling overhead and the people too, unsteady and giddy from both the dancing and the wine.

The newly polished tiles reflected every moment.

Alfred enjoyed to people watch at the Spades balls, picking out royal members of the card council through the crowd in particular - the king of Diamonds, flamboyant and impeccably dressed as usual in cadmium gold, bowing in a silly, extravagant way for some pretty young girl who turned an embarrassed pink and put a nervous hand over her mouth as he complimented her dress – or something about her at least – Alfred thought it was probably her dress - hopefully. Through a part in a crowd of smartly dressed male court members could be seen the King of Hearts, looking stern and spotless as ever, nodding shortly along with the conversation with an earnest look in his eye, a large glass of ale in his hand which he took heavy gulps from at regular intervals. But it wasn't all watching of course, it was official now: the future king of spades - and the boy everyone wanted to meet.

And he felt as if he'd met everyone too. He must have surely, for it was hours into the evening and the constant stream of eager, excitable faces had slowed to a crawl. Though he normally became restless and bored at this point in the evening, missing the attention which shifted with the moon to food and wine and dancing, tonight he was a little relieved. He was distracted from the festivities by a nervous feeling which came with his expected kingship - something which people didn't bother to mollycoddle him about now but congratulated him on. He always knew he would have to be king deep down, but the prospect scared him a little now. Some of it was because of Arthur. Arthur who lived unlike anyone in this ballroom and so far from all Alfred knew. It hadn't really hit him before meeting the peasant boy that Arthur's people - poor people - would also be under his rule one day. How could he please them all at once? Could he keep his people rich and stop Arthur's being poor? Questions such as this left him with a restless desire to focus more in his economics classes.

Having checked quickly to see that the Jack was suitably distracted by his guests, Alfred pushed through the heavy doors to the hallway with the intention of using the restroom, feeling suddenly nauseous. As he left the swirling noise and commotion of the ballroom he had a feeling of being plunged into water, the music muted and suddenly far, far away from him along with all those enjoying it. He let out a sigh before realising he wasn't alone out in the hall. He caught the sound of a raised voice, recognising it but not quite being able to place it. It was coarse and heavily accented and seemed to be expressing a tone of amusement.

Tentatively, unsure of whether he was intruding on something private or not, Alfred allowed his curiosity to get the better of him and ventured around the bend in the hallway. He was mildly surprised to meet his brother on the other side, sitting upright in one of the reading chairs, a man Arthur could not place by the back of his head alone, lounging across from him with his feet up on the mahogany coffee table. The tension which had eased upon seeing his sibling washed over him again at the sight of the stranger.

"Alfred!" His brother's surprise was unmasked upon seeing him away from the party and he seemed to sit up even straighter – if this was at all possible.

At the mention of his presence the other man twisted in his seat, grinning, eyes gleaming at Alfred, a deep red. Of course! Now the reading light hit him properly and the pale silver of his hair was clear too.

But what was the Joker doing with Matthew of all people? - Sitting out here in the dim hallway when he should be the centre of attention.

"Princelet!" The Joker exclaimed with true enthusiasm, uttering his wild laugh and proving that he was as giddy and drunk as the rest of them - not that he wasn't always a bit full on like this - in Alfred's experience anyway, "how's it going pal?"

"It's going alright," Alfred was happy to see the Joker here, he hadn't caught sight of him all evening and smiled truly for the first time that night, approaching the comfortable reading chairs he and his older brother were inhabiting, "I didn't know you were in the kingdom this summer? What made you come?"

"Ah, intuition," he winked at Alfred with a nod, his hair was bleached from birth rather than age, the man himself appearing only to be in his twenties - but who could tell with the Joker? It fell over his forehead slightly as he leaned away from Matthew.

Interested now and having forgotten about his need to use the bathroom, the younger prince leant on the arm of the man's chair eagerly, looking at him with the spark in his eye which had been absent from it all evening.

"Really?" he looked from Matthew to the Joker restlessly, "like proper intuition you mean?"

"Well of course, princelet," the Joker shot him a grin, "I heard the news about you, pal - you're gonna be the king!"

"Oh, yeah..." Alfred, disappointed with this answer but trying weakly to hide it, gave a smile more lopsided than usual.

He so badly wanted to know whether the Joker could really see the future like the Jack had told him he could.

Matthew was frowning slightly at what looked to be the grain of the table but looked up with a sigh and thought about ushering Alfred back to the party. He was having a nerve racking time out here alone with Gilbert, it was true - the other man was drunk and forward and Matthew would much rather have Alfred there as a distraction from his own much less drunk and much more awkward character - but without Yao around to keep him in check they would both be scolded for Alfred's absence from the ballroom. And, what's more, why had the Joker been hanging around out here with him any at all? Perhaps he should be ushering them both off; Matthew was the one who should be hiding away in shadowy corridors, not the future king of spades and the only known Joker in the four kingdoms. He tried not to feel any self pity at this truth but could not push away an odd feeling of solitude he felt was most often reserved for Alfred. His brother was becoming part of something bigger now, and Matthew, well; he trained and went out and spoke to people but was he part of anything? Was he really? He had no reserved place in the royal court, no known military position - not even a role as the Jack's assistant lined up for him. But none of this explained why the Joker had wanted to sit out here with him in this solitude.

He was over thinking, he told himself, and he knew it was true, but it was just that... the Joker did have a sight that others didn't - or so it had always been told - and he felt a yearning he thought his younger brother may also have now for the reassurance of that sight. But did either of them really want to know what fate had in store for them? Or would that only make things a whole lot worse?

"You know, you two might be missed from the party soon..." Matthew's voice was soft but easily heard in the intimate space of the corridor; he didn't look at them, regretting speaking before he'd even said the words.

The Joker laughed loudly and raucously, making Matthew jump a little in his seat and glance at him with wide eyes.

"Getting rid of us, Matthew?" he lifted his glass to his lips, cocking his head on one side with an amused grin, "oh, you wound me, sir."

Matthew tried not the flush, aware of being wound up but not knowing how to react to it – he wasn't witty enough to laugh it off or offer some kind of retort – nor did he want the Joker to feel he had truly offended him or hurt him, lest he seem like some kind of weakling.

"Just in case anyone's looking for either of you...I mean it's expected of you to be at the party, so..." He was mumbling which he hated and screwed up his face in discomfort and frustration at the way his neck pricked with nerves just from having to explain himself.

"What about you, Matthew?" The Joker didn't smile with such careless amusement now, keeping steady eye contact with the eldest Prince of Spades over the rim of his glass, squinting slightly as if reading a message playing across Matthew's face.

Matthew swallowed, glancing around him – anywhere but at Gilbert – he felt stumped for words, not quite understanding what was being asked and forever aware of the intense gaze from across the coffee table. Just as he felt the silence would become unbearable, the Joker laughed softly, more to himself than at Matthew, and knocked back his drink.

"So what about you, princelet? Tired of the adoring faces? Too many canapés, not enough wine?" mercifully, the Joker fixed his attention on the younger of the brothers – something Mattie had never been more relieved to experience.

Alfred smiled but didn't reply in the way which he usually would have – spilling out a detailed account of his entire evening. In fact, the boy's reply came as a surprise to both his brother and the Joker.

"Sir... can you see my future? Like, do you know what happens?" Alfred didn't feel particularly nervous asking such a question, as Mattie undoubtedly would have – the boy himself now gazing at Alfred in a stunned silence, his brother addressing what his own thoughts had addressed just moments before – but he was strongly inquisitive.

The Joker merely looked at Alfred for a long moment in which both of them had to wonder whether he would answer his question at all and Matthew had to hold his breath, half expecting the man to lose his temper. Finally he sighed, replacing his now empty glass on the table.

"Funny you ask, Alfred," he replied at last, settling back in his seat with what looked a little like exhaustion, "I can't really, no."

Both Matthew and Alfred were leaning in now, perplexed looks on their faces and whirring thoughts threatening to leave them behind in the darkened hall.

"But – so you can't see the future?" Alfred's alarm came out in the ringing of his voice and the widening of his eyes.

"Hey, hey calm down, kid – that's not exactly what I said," the Joker put up his hands in a good natured surrender, "I can see the future, yes... but it's not as simple as all that, you know? And it's not all laid out for me either – takes a lot of work to do my job."

He now held the full attention of the two brothers, both of them watching him make his tentative way through his explanation, hanging on his every word.

"You see, some people you can read easy – take your brother here for example-"Gilbert broke off to gesture to Matthew and catch his eye with a slight smirk on his face. Matthew himself turned a deep scarlet at the Joker's notion. "Frankly, he's an open book – it's not like some crystal picture – but I have the gist of it all pretty well mapped," he tapped two fingers to the side of his head.

"So... what about me?" Alfred interrupted before Matthew could offer a protest to the insinuation the Joker was giving about him, his cheeks still flushed; it was the oddest feeling knowing Gilbert could see things about him he couldn't – something he'd hoped for just previously but now made his skin crawl.

"It's complicated. It's like...It's like, people always expect the future to be something solid; they talk about 'fate' like it's a big box that they'll open one day and – hello! – out pops the future...but no, no it's more like...water. Every person travels through life like a leaf on a river - sometimes it's a stream – or that's how I see it at least. That's Matthew for you, when I look at him it just flows, you know? Like a smooth body of water. That isn't to say it won't change, nor that it'll be a breeze or anything – not that I can see all the details – ah, details are so limited anyway – I wish people knew that, right?" the Joker paused to shake his head as if irritated by something, "anyway, the thing is sometimes the water's turbulent, it's like white froth in my mind, it moves consistently – ever-changing – and I sure as hell can't keep tabs on it. Time pulls a person from all angles and some are certain to go one way while another will be bound to two equally – or none at all – I want to say it's a personality thing but...no, I don't' really believe that. The point is that some rivers just aren't smooth, you can't even determine which direction they're headed – they're whirlpools" another pause, "well, that's you princelet – you're one of my enigmas, that's for sure...I guess 'fate' just hasn't quite marked out your route yet." For a few seconds it seemed as if the Joker was deep in his own thought, one hand raised to his mouth and a furrow between his brows. It was a short lived moment; he focused on the boys again with a sharp bout of laughter, "you two must think I'm crazy."

About to reassure the Joker that he felt like he understood – but had not been comforted in the slightest by his words – Alfred was cut short by a hand falling on his shoulder.

"Here you are, your highness, the Jack is looking for you inside – there's someone who would like to meet you post haste."

Unfamiliar with the even voice of the man, Alfred glanced up past his shoulder. It was him, the new Ace of Spades, dressed in blue robes for the evening but with the same white headress as before, when Alfred had first met him in Yao's office.

"Oh, okay sure, sorry," he glanced at the Joker and his brother – the latter getting to his feet, obviously self conscious now that the Ace had appeared.

As he was led back to the ballroom he felt as if his brother was going to follow but the way he bit his lip and furrowed his brow should have indicated that he had one last question for the Joker before returning to the party.

"I'm glad we found you, your highness – it worried us to lose sight of you for so long – it's your party after all."

Alfred didn't reply to the Ace, who kept his palm resting on the shoulder of his ridiculous jacket for the entirety of the walk back, but he quickly remembered his need for the bathroom.

* * *

Arthur was closer to the party than he'd imagined, peering through the servants entrance to the lively ballroom beyond, the joyful sounds of laughter and music escaping into the small room where he stood poised with a laden tray of canapés.

His job wasn't to serve, but rather to replenish the supplies of the smarter dressed, better groomed, royal serving boys weaving through the crowd to sate any slight lingering states of hunger the party guests may be experiencing. This arrangement was understandable, his discoloured work shirt, scuffed boots and tousled hair considered, but to an extent he wished he could be out amongst it all. Arthur had never seen a party like this and on several levels it appalled him; it was excessive and luxurious and so free of inhibition it seemed other-worldly to him. It looked, from the outside, to be no more than an arrogant show of wealth without a purpose other than that they could at all. However, a small part of him was completely entranced. It was as if he was rooted to the earth here, watching through a shadow as they floated in clouds above him, lighter than air itself. In Kattleroot they had dances at the Goose on several occasions - and they could be spirited enough - but never had he seen anything like this. Never could they quite shake free of their roots in such a way.

Just as Arthur noticed one of the platter boys heading his way with an empty tray and was preparing to hand his own over - with relief, having avoided so much as glancing at any of the food in case his growling stomach got the better of him - the music died and the voices hushed and the serving boy slowed in his tracks. He felt an urge to lean out of the doorway to see what the fuss was but his smarter self reminded him that if there was an issue, far better to lurk in the shadows unnoticed. Despite being so tucked away Arthur found himself with a perfect view of what was occurring, the crowd even parting to form an eager circle around the object of interest and voices raising and falling in breathy excitement.

After catching sight of a tuft of glowing blonde hair -like a stalk of wheat glimmering through the crowd - Arthur realised with his breath catching in his throat that it was Alfred. He even felt himself breathe his name under his breath in disbelief. But of course it was Alfred; he was the prince of spades - who else would be the centre of attention? Seeing him like this did shock Arthur though, so formally dressed and surrounded by such adoration, each guest smiling down at him as if he were the sun itself. A tall man with a ponytail stood by his side with a hand on his shoulder - that must have been Yao. He was not as Arthur had imagined him but it made sense, the rigid posture, the composure, the way he guided Alfred - these things all fit in with the man the boy had described to him. There was an air of expectancy in the room as the prince was led forward to whatever fate awaited him on the other side of the hall. He halted, or rather was halted, suddenly where the crowd had parted at its widest and, catching a glimpse of the boy's face, despite the way Alfred puffed out his chest and stood as a King's son should, Arthur thought he saw a hint of fear in it.

"Your highness, Prince Alfred Jones," a ridiculously pompous voice (so nasal it possessed a strangulated quality) rang out over the heads of those in the mingling crowd - over Arthur's head - the room hung waiting on strings,"...Miss Angelique Mancham."

But what did those two names uttered together mean? He experienced a moment of confusion and then all made sense. An introduction, a meeting, a dance. Always a dance wasn't it? Isn't that what those stories said about kings and queens and palaces? Where had he even heard such tales - Mel had never told him of these things, he was sure - but why did he feel this nostalgia? But there wasn't much time to puzzle over that hazy memory (less time for that since meeting Alfred he found: there was way too much trouble at his present) but for now there was too much to watch, though he despised his very interest; if the platter boy didn't need him he should just leave the thing and find more work in the kitchen - there was nothing for him here. Needless to say his feet seemed sealed to the floor on which he stood.

Through the figures of the crowd Alfred, illuminated by the light of the chandeliers, gave a bow. It was a low one and he felt as if it might have gone on forever had she not chuckled slightly - girlishly. He would have said childishly but there was something commanding about it which held a maturity. Arthur still couldn't see her face. He thought Alfred might have to say something to her, a formal invitation perhaps, before proceeding but - at the unexpected and sudden touch of their palms - the orchestra, never to miss a beat and seeming to rise up to the high ceiling with the gasps of the enchanted crowd (Arthur himself suppressing surprise) lifted the suspense from the room and shed it like rain drops over the heads of the guests in the music it played.

Arthur figured Alfred wasn't much of a dancer, the concentration on his face edging very closely towards pain and his back straighter and more rigid than even etiquette required, but that didn't stop the movement of the two from seeming as fluid as the harmonious liquid sound the orchestra made. Royal guests watched on with smiles of endearment for the young couple with hands clasped and drinks raised. They seemed to float over the floor the way a feather floats through air, the pink chiffon skirts of Miss Mancham swirling behind her like smoke. She was pretty, Arthur had to admit - and it was an admittance for some reason - with large dark eyes and immaculately styled hair, dotted with pink daisies.

They danced on but as Alfred twirled her, the two in the centre of the room like a light source, a point of beauty amongst the crowd, the prince happened to glance around him, maybe noticing the room full of people for the first time. A split second after the decision to take in the room was made a case of chance let his eyes lock onto Arthur's in a surreal and stomach dropping instance. The boy was shocked, he made it clear enough, his mouth falling open slightly as he kept his eyes straight on Arthur in his doorway, watching over the slim brown shoulder of his dance partner. Arthur felt as if his mouth could well be ajar too and made sure to straighten up, feeling he was leaning forward once again. Feeling, utterly stupidly, that the Prince of Spades was looking at him and he should at least make himself presentable. It felt wrong for Alfred or anyone to see him - he should be invisible, unimportant, a ghost of this world around him - not gawped at by Alfred who surely should be enthralled by the pretty thing in front of him, in his arms. But for these few seconds he and Alfred were the only two souls in the room and the look on his face was the only thing which existed.

After what felt like too long Arthur gave a slow nod, gathering himself, and the spell melted and the sound swelled back to full volume and he took a step back, surrounding himself in shadow with a sudden hold of shame and forcing Alfred to let him stay a ghost today; it wasn't somewhere he should be getting himself noticed. It wasn't a world where he was supposed to exist. Not to anyone. Especially not to Alfred.

* * *

 **A/N:** An update that's on time yay! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and it was nice to see some speculation in the reviews heh heh! :B

The song I listed above played a really big part in how I envisioned the ball to be, so check out the link if you want to/can spare the time :D

Thanks to those that reviewed, I really cherish any comments people have about the story!

Anyway, I'll be back with more soon!


	10. The Hard Truth

**Chapter Song:** The Secret Sisters - Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

* * *

 **Chapter 11: The Hard Truth**

Kattleroot was cloaked in darkness as Arthur took to the winding paths back through the rows of shambled houses and fences to his own little patch of the village. The place wore the night like a second skin, becoming something far away from what it was in the day time, shifting into a ghost town which reflected the moon from every surface, life's only giveaway the glow of candlelight at a window or the remains of smoke from a fire - maybe a drunk grumbling in the gutter. He had taken the riverside path, watching the churning of the moving waters in the darkness and listening to the soft babbling noises it made. He had an urge to run his fingers over the rippling surface but resisted, having heard one too many scare tales of the unshakable chill that cuts through the river at night - the kind that takes your life. He couldn't suppress an image of Alfred in his large, warm palace, the affectionate faces, the food, the girl with the flowers in her hair. He compared this to the feeling of plunging into the icy waters of the river in the dead of night, the waves lapping up to his waist. Something about this image made him feel suddenly panicked, like he was choking. He felt as though he could be remembering something like a nightmare he may have had once about running through an icy river such as this. He blocked it out.

As he followed the curving bank of the dark river he saw a glowing point in the near distance which made him nervous for a brief moment, the lights here brighter than they had been at the cottage windows. It was as the noises began to reach him that he relaxed; He had walked to the Goose already? He must have done. There was lively disjointed music trailing out of the open doors, a solid sheet of yellow light illuminating the square of dirt out front, the old hanging sign coming into view as it swayed on its lantern post in the evening breeze. Voices began to separate and form into men and women, laughter and yelling, old drunks and young serving girls. A baby wailed from an upstairs window, open to let in the night air. The place seemed packed, not surprisingly perhaps. Arthur decided he wouldn't stop tonight.

As he passed the glowing entrance to the village inn, Arthur glanced inside, there was only a blur of movement to be seen, the light blinding him slightly. He thought he might have glimpsed Karlos behind the bar through the burning haze. He kept walking.

From some unknown place in the shadows an arm closed around Arthur's neck and he let out a gasp as the grip tightened to a chokehold in the solitary darkness. Feeling the fear rise in his stomach Arthur gave a strangulated noise of protest before attempting to elbow his attacker. Wanting to yell for Karlos (the only person he'd recognised) Arthur began to thrash with the choker, using all the brute strength he could muster - but the guy was bigger, he closed Arthur in and smothered him with something familiar smelling like-

"Hey, Arthur, quit it! Stop - it's me! It's me!" Antonio let go of Arthur with a little difficulty, putting his hands in the air in as a kind of surrender and backing off.

There was a tense moment as the two stared each other down, Arthur still breathing hard and ready to punch him, Antonio still alarmed at his friend's reaction, looking genuinely shocked. After several seconds Arthur let his shoulders fall, dropping his fists to his sides.

"You're an idiot..." Arthur was irritated but his voice shook slightly as he spoke and there was a lack of anger behind the insult, "why'd you jump me like that?"

Antonio merely laughed, one side of his face illuminated by the light from the Goose's back porch, the other in shadow. Arthur could smell ale on his breath.

"I didn't mean to scare you, Art," his face broke into an easy grin as he came into full view, stepping out of the road and onto the Goose's back step, leading Arthur to do the same," I didn't know when you'd be getting back from the fancy party - I was pleased to see you, silly."

Arthur frowned but he couldn't help letting a warm feeling permeate his frosty outer shell; Antonio had actually missed him, at least was glad to have him back, and just maybe he had not been so solitary after all.

"It wasn't a party. I was working," he insisted stubbornly despite this feeling, "and I wasn't scared."

Antonio gave another laugh, leaning back dopily on the wooden hand rail of the back porch. Arthur had to wonder how much he'd had to drink that evening.

"Aw, 'course, Arthur, you're right." Antonio nodded but his smile began to fade slightly as he kept eye contact with the younger boy.

"Uh, Toni? Are you alright?" the idiot hadn't gone and drowned his sorrows after the Ace's speech had he?

"I'm fine, Arthur, I've just got to doing some thinking today is all," he looked at Arthur as if he understood this but his eyes were still a little far away.

"That's not like you at all," Arthur had to remark dryly, the irresistible opportunity pulling at him more strongly than the concern he felt.

Antonio gave him a vague half smile as an acknowledgement of the insult but - and this was much more concerning than the staggering - did not offer any greater reaction. He just kept his gaze level with Arthur's, nagging at the corner of his lower lip slightly as he did.

"Don't be so mean, Arthur..." Antonio seemed to say more to himself.

Arthur was taken in by Antonio's resigned tone and the hushing sounds the river beside them made and, rather than protesting, offered up his friend the same scrutiny with a furrow of the brow, suddenly aware of the air passing between them and the mild breeze on the back of his neck and the murmur of the crickets in the brush.

He wanted to say he was sorry, but he wasn't sure why - when they had always made jokes at each other's expense without it being personal in the past. He remained silent.

"Listen, Art, I actually did want to see you tonight," Antonio straightened up from the side rail, facing Arthur directly and looking at him intensely now, much closer than he had been before. Arthur was again made more aware of the air but now it was not only that, it was Toni's breath and the rough fabric of his shirt that brushed against his arm briefly as he moved closer to him. "I think you know what it's about."

Kattleroot? Arthur thought logically but with some urgency. Kattleroot is Toni's town - he loves it and it's being left to rot. Antonio wanted the region to be the great prosperous farming ground it was destined to be and it was more than a little rough around the edges now -and rougher every day - the whole situation is pushing him down. It had to be...or could it be...? No. Not that. He'd die of embarrassment if Toni had some how worked out the way he felt around him.

"What's up Toni?" Arthur was tentative as he asked, still feeling tense from their closeness and Antonio's sudden seriousness. He tried to swallow but his throat was dry. There was a lingering silence between them.

"...I like someone," Antonio faltered in his intensity and couldn't look Arthur in the eye for a moment, focusing on the wooden boards beneath their boots instead.

Arthur's mouth opened and shut in the same second, a feeling like his stomach was turning over inside him rendering him momentarily speechless.

"I know you probably find that silly, and it kinda is, but I've tried to keep acting like I don't and it's still true." He glanced at Arthur again but hastily became enthralled in the floor once more, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I mean... we've been friends a while - like really close - and I don't wanna mess that up so I've been pretending it's not there for so long."

Arthur's mind was racing past his mouth which couldn't seem to cope with even the most simple of basic functions. He wondered if Antonio was saying what he thought he was saying, each new feeling that thought brought on sending a bolt of nausea straight to his twisted stomach. He was aware of the close proximity in which they stood and the scent of the ale and felt he wished he had something else to occupy himself with other than staring at Antonio, at his pensive eyes and the way a dimple formed on one side of his cheek as he chewed at his lip. At the prospect of something he'd only ever let himself imagine when he wasn't actively telling himself not to do so.

"You like...someone?" Arthur could have sworn at himself for how his voice shook and how much of a little boy he momentarily sounded.

Antonio chuckled nervously and found he could keep steady eye contact with his friend for the first time.

"Yeah, I do - I like someone and I can finally stop acting like that doesn't exist and treating them like - like a brother or something," Toni wrinkled his nose and shook his head as if ashamed, "they're so much more than that."

Like a brother. Arthur had to fixate on this, build it up and break it down and start again. He loves _me_ like a brother - he _told_ me - he told me on my birthday. 'You're like a brother to me', he said. 'Its only because I love you'.

He tried to muster up the courage to speak again despite the pulse in his ears drowning out the river and the crickets and the patrons, his face growing flushed.

"Awh... I'm sorry Art, this must be weirding you out so much, I've just sprung this on you," Antonio gave the blonde an apologetic look with the same awkwardness he'd been battling with throughout, again struggling with eye contact.

No! Arthur had an impulse to say, and also yes - but no, don't say that. He just needed a second to understand it all. He felt a wave of panic wash over him, feeling the moment held a key to everything that would come afterward and if he wasn't careful the river would rush on past him through the floodgates and he'd be left ice cold and wondering what happened. He was aware that Toni was drunk but also that he was sincere, that his eyes were trying to reach out to him and hold onto something. For a horrifying moment he wanted to kiss him.

"...I don't mind," Arthur muttered dumbly. Was he for real? ' _I don't mind?!'_ He was dying inside as his clashing emotions produced such a failed response and he could almost feel the water giving way beneath him, leaving without him.

"Really? You don't think it would change things too much? Between us?" Antonio ploughed on as Arthur felt a numbness spread through his entire body and dared allow his head to swim with the implications Antonio might have been making. Must have been making. He'd spelled it out, he'd said it, he'd used the word 'us'. And he'd meant him and Arthur hadn't he? The two of them? But the idea made his stomach turn and his palms sweat.

"I - well obviously I guess, yes, but ... " His words were choked and stunted, he felt the pleading in his eyes which his voice lacked.

"I know what it is...I know, Arthur, it's okay," Antonio sighed and looked at Arthur straight on, considering him, frowning slightly the light catching the gold flecks in his eyes - and at that moment Arthur could accept it. He could accept that he was in love with him.

"You...know?" Arthur felt like he was in a daze and replied like a sleepwalker replies when caught up in the dead of night.

Antonio took a breath.

"You like her too."

* * *

There was a boy in Arthur and Antonio's Sunday class called Skippy.

Skippy fancied himself as a sportsman of sorts but he didn't play ball or cricket like some of the others - he called himself a runner. A hobby he primarily developed as his family's food supplies grew scarcer and scarcer. He took the title to the extremes, climbing walls, jumping fences, you name it. Arthur saw him vault a horse to get to the schoolhouse roof once.

But Skippy had a weakness. He couldn't make the jump from the village building to his own house. A bit of a problem if he'd been nicking apple's from Mrs Merritt's trees and had to get back sharpish. So Skippy vowed he'd make it, and on his sixteenth birthday he called all the village kids to witness him finally make the jump. Now they'd all seen Skippy climb the old wall at the back of the schoolhouse right to the top, the one crumbling to pieces. They'd seen him jump the river. So they had confidence he'd do it and attended the event like pilgrims going to their holy city. Even Arthur, who often expected little of people at the best of times, had faith in Skippy. And after Skippy had made the run up to the leap and they all held their breaths and waited, he wasn't sure at what point it became apparent that Skippy wouldn't make it, but he remembered a long, surreal moment of freefall in which Skippy seemed to go neither vertically nor horizontally but was falling without movement.

Arthur's mind felt currently to be an exact replica of Skippy. It hung in freefall in a great chasm between emotions. For a long moment he could not reply, could not move, wasn't even sure if he was breathing or not.

"Arthur?" Antonio was cocking his head at him with a frown. As his voice pierced the bubble of feeling he'd been surrounded in and Arthur saw Skippy hit the dirt and the eruption of dust that followed and the groans of disappointment no one could suppress despite the bent out of shape boy on the ground.

"...Her?" As Arthur regained a sense of consciousness his voice came out a dry crackle and he felt like he wasn't really looking at Antonio any more, but past him.

"Belle, of course! Who'd you think I meant?" Antonio laughed incredulously and any inkling of love Arthur thought he had felt hardened around him like bread left out to go stale.

In the same moment the Goose's back door opened harshly with a screech and light flooded onto their faces. Before he could begin to comprehend this, Arthur received a shocking, soaking, cold slap in the face and was blinded momentarily. He heard Antonio yell and then he was jumping back from Arthur, his shirt spattered with water.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry Arthur, I didn't even see you out here," Karlos was silhouetted in the open back door, an empty bucket under one arm and an apologetic look on his face.

Arthur looked at the bucket and then down at his sodden shirt, the sleeves dripping and heavy. His hair lay in damp clumps over his eyes. Water droplets ran down his neck. He said nothing.

There was a yell from inside - it sounded angry.

"Awh, man, I really am sorry Arthur," He glanced back over his shoulder anxiously, " I gotta get back though..."

Antonio stepped into the light of the door. "Go brother, I'll sort him out." He waved Karlos away.

"Alright, okay - I'll make it up to you, Arthur, though - hey! I'll let you marry my brother if you like?" Karlos gave a grin, giving his younger brother a shove of amusement.

"You'll make him even more mad talking like that, Karl! Arthur won't take your crap and you know it!" Toni made a clumsy, oblivious attempt to protect his friend and gave a laugh, pushing his brother back inside the noisy inn.

Before Antonio was even finished with this task Arthur was vigorously ringing out his sleeves and preparing to get out of there as fast as possible, a heated, nauseating humiliation rising in his gut.

"Wait, Arthur," Antonio was suddenly at his side again, persistent and energetic," so do you think I should go for it?"

"For what?" Arthur replied harshly, giving in and removing his outer shirt hurriedly to better squeeze out the dish water, shuddering in cold and irritation.

"With Belle! You think I should try to ask her if she like...wants to be with me?" He was biting his lip again and Arthur could have slapped him.

"Sure, if you want." Arthur was going down the steps now, dripping on the planks and feeling more sordid than he had all day. He was cutting himself off from Antonio and the heavy feeling in his chest. He wanted to be alone and preferably sleeping.

"Arthur!" his friend called for the last time and he almost didn't stop to listen but something about the desperate note his voice had made him whirl to face him again, soaking wet in the middle of the road, "do you think she likes me?"

Antonio looked so nervous and lost that Arthur almost had to feel sorry for him, but his own hardened heart prevented compassion from reaching him entirely.

"Toni, I think she'd be a fool to love you, but we're all fools once," he felt stretched thin as he said this and all of a sudden completely exhausted, " and you're just the sort of person people make fools of themselves for - you and Belle have that in common," seeing Antonio still bewildered, Arthur gave a deep sigh and could not keep the slight contempt from his voice, " you're made for each other, Toni - a real perfect match."

And he finally left him there on the side of the road, turning for the last time and fast walking the way home, tight-lipped and ball fisted, ignoring any further shouts from his best friend and the ice whip of the breeze on his soaked skin. He kept a lid on the feeling swelling in his chest and at the back of his eyes and just kept walking. Walking and walking until he was finally home.

* * *

The night air was warm that evening and troubled the string of lights weaving through the Spades topiary, tickling the leaves of the trees to hear them rustle. The sounds of the party inside drifted through the open courtyard doors and gave the fireflies a tune to which they danced. Above their heads, the coloured lanterns swayed on their hooks as Alfred Jones and Angelique Mancham 'took a turn' around the courtyard - just as Alfred had been told it was polite to do when you are getting to know a lady.

" - You must have been dancing for ages - you're a much better dancer than I am - I bet Yao would much rather teach you than me, he says I have two left feet but you're feet seem perfectly the right way around," Alfred was vaguely aware that he was talking too much but the mixture of nervousness from Miss Mancham's presence and the eagerness he felt at having someone to talk to at all brought out such responses in him and once he started he couldn't easily stop himself. " I mean, I suppose you have two right feet or something because you didn't seem to have any trouble with the steps at all-"

"They're watching us, you know," Angelique Mancham interrupted Alfred with a glance at the doorway to the ballroom, looking back at him with a slight smirk.

"They are?" Alfred took this as a surprise but also with some disinterest; he was often being watched - it was something he'd grown used to.

"Mm hm, I suppose they want to see if we're getting along," she gave Alfred a pointed look," perhaps you should kiss me."

" What?!" Alfred spluttered in alarm, feeling his cheeks heating up, "I couldn't do something like that! E-especially not if anyone's watching!"

Miss Mancham laughed, " you're such a child!" she announced jovially, running her hand along the side of the hedgerow.

"W-well - how old are you?" Alfred demanded, feeling shaken and adamant from what she had said to him.

"fourteen," she replied sharply,"...in three months."

"Well then, you're still a child too!" Alfred cried indignantly," I'll be thirteen next year, anyway."

"That isn't the same at all," she replied with a purse of the lips, her pretty features wrinkling for a moment.

"Why do they have to see if we're getting along anyway?" Alfred abandoned the argument and focused on what she had said earlier, " aren't they just checking we're alright out here?"

Angelique twirled around to face him, her skirts billowing around her legs for a moment as they caught the wind.

"They're reviewing your matches of course!" she exclaimed with some surprise at Alfred's ignorance, "you're going to be the king!"

This was not news to Alfred. He had been told this fact repeatedly throughout the day and hearing it from Miss Mancham now did not offer him any more insight into what he should expect from his life than it had when he'd heard it from anyone else.

"You mean...matches for marriage?" He felt himself blanche a little, having not considered this train of thought previously.

"Something like that," Angelique replied, discreetly plucking a rose from the bush beside her and holding it behind her back, "they want to see who you get on with well so they can choose who the queen will be."

Alfred did not say anything for a moment and before he could, Angelique stuffed the flower into his hand, surprising him completely.

"Give it to me!" she whispered a little fiercely.

"why?" Alfred replied, also whispering and not entirely sure as to why.

"It's romantic!" she insisted emphatically, "we want to make a good impression don't we?"

Alfred was beyond puzzled at what Miss Mancham wanted from him but offered out the flower awkwardly, glancing at the doors to see if they did indeed approve of his gesture.

"Oh, thank you!" she feigned surprise, taking the thing up graciously and smelling it.

They continued to walk through the courtyard in silence and Alfred wondered as to whether he should ask who had taught her to dance or merely give up.

"You're right though," Angelique admitted as they passed the neat brick lily pad pond, reflecting the hanging lights in its shallow waters, "they do want to keep us safe."

"In case we get hurt or something like that," Alfred agreed, nodding understandingly.

"Not just that!" she continued forcefully," in case anyone _tries_ to hurt us."

"Why would someone do that?" Alfred asked and his step slowed as he stopped to look at her quizzically.

"Because we're special and they're jealous," she insisted, " how many people out there do you think want to be king? Or queen? - to have just a chance at being in that position? People are dedicated to getting what they want - trust me."

"but they wouldn't...they wouldn't go and..." Alfred was at a bit of a loss for words, his naivety showing through his expression and discomfort.

"They might." Angelique replied shortly, crossing her arms, " look at what happened to that boy they thought would be queen two years ago."

"What boy? What happened?" Alfred didn't have the faintest idea what Miss Mancham was talking about but was immediately intrigued.

"You don't know?" Angelique put a hand to her mouth, realising that she may have spoken out of turn, " well, don't dare say I said, but I don't think the fire was an accident - my uncle says it was, and it might have been - but he thinks too well of people anyway and - oh! There he is."

As Angelique broke away from Alfred to greet her uncle by the back step the young prince's mind felt it had received an overload of information which he found difficult to digest. What fire? And what boy? he would have asked Yao had Angelique not seemed so secretive about it all. But still - should Yao not be telling him such things by now? He wasn't _that_ much of a child anymore.

Looking in Miss Mancham's direction once more Alfred was beckoned by her uncle to come inside with them. As he approached in a further state of confusion he was taken aback to see who exactly her relative was. Sadik Ardnan stood before him in the open doorway of the grand ballroom holding out a fan of cards, Angelique beaming at the boy with an arm hooked through her uncle's beside him.

"Go on, take one," he said with a smile, " I bet I'll guess it."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello! Sorry this is late D: I'd like to say thank you to those that reviewed though as you really gave me the push to get this chapter out!

(teeny spoiler: in the next chapter things will have moved on a bit from how they are now! *ominous*)

Anyway, See you all again soon and feel free to let me know how you're finding the story!

P.S. Sorry I was/am so mean to Arthur.


	11. Nothing Has Changed

**A/N:** Answer to **Dreamshipper229** regarding whether Alfred and Arthur will always be in the friend zone: Can I be cheeky say wait and see? ;D If you're still curious after this chapter I will let you know!

 **Chapter Song:** Rivers and Roads - The Head and the Heart ( watch?v=e2J-0EtsCpo)

* * *

 **Chapter 13: Nothing Has Changed, Everything is Different**

The grass was crisp underfoot and Alfred enjoyed the satisfying crunch it made beneath the sole of his boot each time his footing found an undisturbed patch. His breath puffed out in white clouds to join the trails of mist lining the horizon and encircling tree trunks, shading the pure, orange light of the rising sun just glimmering on the edge of being. The air grazed his face like frost, leaving his cheeks pink before rising to form the white sky above his head. The trees around him seemed black as silhouettes and naked without their leaves - any last foliage now on the ground around them, stiff with ice in the rarely touched area of the grounds. He could not help but feel a tingle of exhilaration as he bent under the bough of a tree and came to the old red brick wall which once seemed so unbreachable to him. Still bent low, his leather riding jacket stretched taut over his now broad shoulders, he waded through frozen leaves to the boarded up section of wall,  
hidden by frosted ivy. As he began to get some leverage on it, a crow fled its perch, disturbing branches and squawking loudly. Alfred stopped his task to watch it disappear through the branches before lifting the board completely, slipping through with a little difficulty, grazing his shoulders along the rough bricks. Sucking in his stomach and angling his body sideways, he made it out the other side, wincing as the board fell back into place with a solid slap against the bricks - but there was no one nearby to hear the echo, he was sure.

He straightened up and inhaled deeply, the crisp air cool in his lungs. He had to give a smile, one which came with excitement and mischief. He'd done it! Not for the first time now, but each time it still felt like winning somehow, and he got an odd sense of achievement from it. But escaping alone wasn't what really excited him - it was where he was going that made his heart feel a little lighter in his chest.

But he didn't stop long and with light tread proceeded through the trees further away from the Spades Palace and its aging walls.

When he arrived at the designated spot minutes later, the other boy was already waiting; arms folded over his chest, leaning back on a tree with his eyes closed and a look of discontent on his face. A tousled mess of hair and a fan of closed eyelashes. And Alfred was pleased to see him all the same, experiencing the shiny, embarrassing feeling of being unable to contain a grin when laying eyes on someone he was happy to meet, each attempt to hold it in thwarted by the muscles in his face.

"You took your time," Arthur announced critically without opening his eyes.

"Sorry," Alfred said sheepishly, but the smile was undeterred and he pressed on, padding across the leaves to stroke Arthur's horse, tied to the tree beside him, "I got trapped talking to Georgie before I came out."

Alfred continued to run his palm across the horse's nose and then tickled it under its chin. The horse gave a snort and then a loud sneeze, shaking its dark mane as it did so. Alfred laughed and the sounds bounced off the trees and returned to them before they were obliterated into the clouds.

"I miss Clover," he added after a moment's contemplation as his laugh had subsided, his tone light but not without wistfulness.

"Me too," Arthur agreed with a sigh, sharing a glance with Alfred for the first time.

But a horse was the least that could change over the course of three long years - as Arthur so often told him. Of course they had been longest for Arthur - he always had work to do and more and more by the day, but Alfred too was working hard in his own way and felt the weight of the years on his shoulders in the foreshadowing of his near future. For it was not long now before he would be crowned.

"Who's a good horse?" Alfred returned his attentions to the fussing creature for a moment, retrieving an apple from his pocket and offering it up enthusiastically, "guess what's for breakfast boy? Guess?"

Both boys watched as the horse hastily devoured the apple, the crunching of the fruit the only sound reverberating out between them for a few seconds.

"...I got you breakfast too," Alfred addressed Arthur now, more seriously but with a smile. He put a hand to his pocket and eyed his friend unwarily, though he was ready for the approaching fuss.

"I told you not to do that anymore, Alfred!" Just as expected, Arthur was angry with him.

Arthur was too proud to take food from him, though Alfred knew he wanted it - it seemed too much like charity. there was a sense of guilt in it too - how he could eat while his village went hungry?- he felt like he was getting special treatment, he'd said. But Alfred would try and feed the whole farming region if he could! It was just easier to start with Arthur. That was where he wanted to start, anyway. It confused and frustrated him that Arthur couldn't just take the gift he so badly wanted to give.

"I just get worried! You look like you're getting thinner..." Alfred was downtrodden and genuinely concerned, shifting the leaves with the toe of his boot and feeling a little useless.

"We're all thin!" He wasn't quite raising his voice, but he could not keep out exasperation, "those of us left," be added with a mutter before giving Alfred a firm look, "but I can take care of myself, you know that."

"I guess so, but..." he felt his reasoning trail away with his words.

Alfred, looked at Arthur with a pained expression, feeling utterly inadequate for a moment that he couldn't live up to the expectations of the one he...- of the one he cared most about.

"So, how about this then," Arthur spoke up, perhaps regretting the annoyance he'd expressed in his last statement - perhaps knowing how Alfred was not really the cause of his problems. He'd spoken to Yao of the people in the farm towns - of poverty in the land - but no changes had been seen and he could do little more in his current position, "how about you catch us both breakfast."

Arthur thrust a bow against Alfred's chest, taking him by surprise for a moment. He held it there for a few moments and Alfred felt his scrutiny - but also noticed a slight smirk on his mouth and felt a great wave of relief that the tension was releasing.

"You really think I can catch something this time?" Alfred asked, feeling more confident in his ability just at Arthur's words - excited by the challenge, hopeful of the results and willed on to improve if it meant he could help Arthur - if it meant Arthur would let him help.

Arthur gave a nonchalant kind of shrug, releasing his hold on the bow - Arthur's old bow. It was worn and aging now and Alfred had better bows at the training ground in the palace of course, but someone would notice if one went missing and besides...he liked the old thing.

"Maybe," Arthur quirked a brow at him, sauntering back to his tree to retrieve his own pack, "you've been practising long enough."

"Not fair!" Alfred found himself replying indignantly as he caught the arrows Arthur had tossed his way one-handed.

"Remember what I told you," Arthur began coolly, pulling his own bow from his back and loading up his arrow in the same swift moment.

Alfred watched his profile, softened by the early light of the sun glowing on the edges of his hair and features. Alfred unwillingly heard himself intake breath and the forest seemed to fall silent around him and even the prince himself felt he was not quite present as the boy pulled back his bow and stretched the string taut. Not a bird dared sing and Alfred saw a poise in Arthur which came out on occasions such as this that he wished he could bottle up and let out on all the days he was holed up in the palace and felt his mind clouding over with a loss of direction. It was like seeing Arthur like this inspired him to pursue that same dignity. He felt a lump in his throat: It was at these times he thought Arthur was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"...sense the state of your target, keep your eye in line with the arrow...hold your breath."

Obediently, Alfred held his breath as if preparing himself and though he knew Arthur had no intention of shooting, he waited for the release and felt for a minute like the power behind the softness of the moment would tear the land they stood on in two.

"Okay?" Arthur loosened his grip and turned to Alfred questioningly, shading the sun. The air blew from the prince's mouth and the world remained startlingly intact.

"...Okay," Alfred agreed after some hesitation, a vagueness in his tone, "Yes, okay - I'll definitely catch something this time, I promise!"

"Actions speak louder than words, Alfred," Arthur gave him a look with that same smirk he always had and Alfred was compelled to prove him wrong, or right, or just to prove something.

"Right!" Alfred nodded with vigour.

"Shh," Arthur put a hand out across Alfred's stomach suddenly to stop his movement and peered into the next clearing. He pointed silently.

"I don't-" Alfred couldn't see whatever Arthur could and replied in his normal (loud) tone, seeing no reason for caution around.

"Shh!" Arthur turned to him in exasperation, this time clamping his hand over his mouth, "rabbits," he whispered.

Though reasonably distracted by the sudden close contact between them, Alfred searched the grove for any sign of such creatures.

"... _I thee them_!" When he eventually spoke again, Alfred's voice was no more than a muffle beneath Arthur's palm.

Arthur nodded without a word and, removing his grip on Alfred's mouth, put a finger to his own lips. He gestured to the bow and stepped aside.

Alfred felt a little nervous taking the shot - maybe it was because Arthur was better and could take them down easily on his own, or maybe because if he failed he'd be failing his best friend a meal he needed. He had half a mind to let Arthur take the shot to increase the chance of taking the prey home but he felt they were both just a little too proud to do that. He had to show him! He could do it, anyway - he definitely could.

He felt for an arrow clumsily, his breath coming out in clumps of condensation, never looking away from the prey in front of him. One was snuffling at the earth, digging for something. It looked around and its nose glistened in the soft light. Alfred saw it twitch. It's cute, he could not help but think; It's pretty, it's just a harmless creature. And Arthur told him early on that he couldn't go on thinking these things if he wanted to be a hunter - if he really wanted to hunt. And his father had hunted, and his brother too, and it was a kings sport they had both once said in different times and places. He hadn't liked the sound of that word 'sport' - but this wasn't sport anyway; Rabbit is food too, he had it countless times at the palace - he liked it - he had it in pie sometimes. But seeing it like this made it way harder and the thought of striking it with an arrow seemed cruel. To kill it with its family watching even more so.

Still he tried desperately to swallow this feeling and positioned the arrow with shaky hands, pulling back the string and kneeling against the cool, harsh surface of a rock nearby. He felt like hours passed as he aligned the shot, his vision blurring as he tried to focus on the nearest creature. He squinted to see it. Arthur always aimed for the head but Alfred thought he'd be lucky to get its body at all. The same guilty feeling rose up as it was in his sights, lolloping slowly into the shot, perfectly in line. But his hands couldn't stop shaking and there was the scary feeling he'd lose it and the even scarier thought that no matter what he did someone would suffer.

And then he felt Arthur's palm on his hand, lightly pressing, holding it still and he almost looked at him in surprise but held it in just as his head began to turn away from the line of sight he'd set for the rabbit. He took in a deep breath as Arthur knelt on the rock beside him, placing his other hand over Alfred's right hand to still the arrow. His fingers were cold and his grip as subtle as a sheet on the bed in summer. Alfred felt something wash over him and eyed the rabbit again, it was true it would have to die, but Arthur needed it more, right? For a moment he simply enjoyed being completely engulfed by Arthur's presence, feeling like he would happily remain like this for the rest of the day.

He released his grip, his breath tumbling from him as he did so, the arrow sailing and the sound of the string springing back into place ringing in his ears. Alfred heard a scrabbling in the leaves and watched the shape of his rabbit disappearing into the undergrowth in disbelief. He watched its brown tail flit through the brush. He turned to Arthur with his mouth agape, positively distraught. To his intense surprise the boy was grinning back at him, a hand over his mouth.

"You got it, Alfred!" Arthur exclaimed, standing up suddenly and provoking a further look of intense confusion from the prince, shattering his moment of horror.

"What do you mean? I just saw it run away- I missed, I -" Alfred stood up beside Arthur, a somewhat defeated tone to his words interlacing with his surprise at his friend's reaction.

"No, idiot!," Arthur struggled not to insult the younger boy now that he and Alfred saw each other more often and now that somewhere along the way he learnt how to forget he was the heir to the throne," that was the other one! You did it - look!"

So Alfred looked and finally saw the carcass in the clearing, bloodstained on the stiff leaves, arrow sticking out of its side at an angle, body upturned to the clouds.

"...I did it," Alfred mumbled, not taking his eyes of the dead rabbit, "Wait...was that the one I was aiming for?"

Arthur turned to him and gave a laugh of disbelief, actually looking...happy, excited, pleased.

"You need to get your eyes tested, Alfred," he gave him a light push on the shoulder, "that was a great shot."

Alfred let the compliment sink in with the uncensored smile on Arthur's face and how the light brought out shards of green in his eyes. He felt himself unable to hold down a grin of pride and took a moment just to appreciate the achievement. It felt sunnier than earlier, though the chill still bit through his clothes, and he could feel the warmth of a ray on the back of his neck. Staring in amazement at his friend he had a moment to realise how close they were, to think about embracing him, as he so badly wanted to do right then it almost hurt a little.

"Isn't it funny?" Alfred heard himself say through his smile and as Arthur gave a slight furrow of the brow, not quite able to downturn the corners of his mouth, he felt the cause of his question escape into the open air.

Lots of things were funny. Wasn't it funny that Alfred was seeing Arthur regularly again? That they were together at all? He hadn't known anything about delivery contracts at that time but as it so happened, Arthur's had been only due to last a year. It had shocked him completely when Arthur had come up one day and told him it would be the last. He was just a kid, he liked constancy as much as he was excited by change and he'd cried in his bedroom and not let Georgia in all evening, not said a word to her save for the cries of 'leave me alone!'. The next day she'd told the Jack that he had taken ill and had retired to his bed and perhaps that day playing with his old toy soldiers let him shed some light on the situation. Things at the palace just kept going on around him and, though Mattie had been sympathetic enough, no one else there could understand his sadness and perhaps a day to play with his old toy soldiers and eat eggs in bed was all he would receive as consolation for losing a friend. That feeling was almost as crushing as when he'd realised his mother and father were never ever coming back to him.

He had spent some really dull, restless months without anything but what was inside the palace since then. Well, there had been some changes, he supposed, but nothing to really anticipate as he had Arthur's visits. But now, of course, it had all changed. And Arthur had only to find a horse and visit him just that one time to 'say goodbye' - as he'd put it. But Alfred, far from swayed by Arthur's display, told him about the boarded up wall and the forest behind, about the escape route he'd found, about the possibility...and after intense persuasion, Arthur had agreed they could still talk there if he so badly wanted to and if Alfred could tell him when he was free from duty.

How funny it had been when they slipped back into friendship after all that time. And all the old excitement of meeting him was back when, true to his word, he brought the bow. An actual bow for Alfred to hunt with out in the wild itself! He expected wolves to pounce at him just from holding the thing. And to be honest it was funny just how happy Alfred was at this moment in time that was so far removed from the rest of his life. It was as if his time with Arthur acted as some kind of second life. Sometimes he got the overwhelming feeling that Arthur wasn't real - couldn't be - was merely some figment of Alfred's active imagination. An alter-ego? Was that what Mattie had called it? He'd spent time growing up with him - really he'd helped him grow up in some ways (not that he had needed it particularly or anything of course) and there was something disconcerting about visualising Arthur away from the palace outskirts. Because he wasn't a figment at all and he went home and ate dinner (most of the time) and had other friends apart from Alfred. He had a little brother, maybe even someone special - though he always denied this stubbornly if Alfred ever probed. A part of Alfred felt that Arthur was only for him, that this should be so. That he had been strategically placed to be a part of his life and that to have an entire life of his own was a completely surreal breach of this arrangement. What did he think about when he went home? Who did he talk to? What was his house like? Did he still think about Alfred or did he fade to the back of his mind? But soon he could actually go to see where Arthur lived and feel what he felt walking through his village and past everything Arthur saw. It wasn't long before he could take visits in the kingdom and wasn't it funny that he was that grown up already?

"...I'm taller than you," Alfred explained finally, cocking his head slightly, "haven't you noticed?"

Arthur stepped back with a look of strong distaste, crossing his arms defensively.

"You are not!" he declared adamantly, his cheeks colouring from more than the cold.

"Hey!" Alfred, with a good chunk of Arthur's defensive tone, cried in response, "what's so bad about that?"

" Because you're so much younger than me, Alfred!" Arthur spluttered with a red face, uncrossing his arms to emphasize the statement with upturned palms, " and it's just...it's embarrassing to be considered shorter than you when I'm a grown man now."

A fleeting feeling of pain struck at Alfred's heart.

"Arthur, I'm fifteen...my coronation is in 3 months," Alfred felt a surprising calm tone in his voice as he uttered this, despite the irritation and disappointment he felt at Arthur insinuating he was still some kind of child. He hated that - more so now than ever. "I'll be sixteen years old in 3 months."

But he hadn't needed to make a fuss, because Arthur stopped to look at him properly with the dusting of his flush still on his cheeks and his mouth slightly agape as if he was going to speak but the only real message he conveyed was through the eyes that scanned the prince's face.

"...So you will be," Arthur looked downwards at his shoes momentarily as he let his shoulders relax and his voice drop to its usual levels.

"And anyway," Alfred continued, struggling to retain some of his old confidence, " you're 18, not 80, Arthur, stop acting like a proud old man."

Arthur began to vehemently protest at the sight of Alfred's mischievous smile when a sound behind them, like a crack of a twig but more drawn out, saw the older boy's shoulders rise once more and he wasn't examining Alfred anymore but the spaces between the trees around them. Before Alfred could so much as open his mouth to ask Arthur what was wrong, the other boy was stepping away from him and glancing at his horse, reaching for the reigns.

"You're not leaving are you?" Alfred asked, following him to the horse's side, fresh urgency breaking through the cracks in his voice.

Arthur had always been wary when visiting Alfred and took the greatest care to remain invisible, to be aware of who was around, how close, how crucial it was to keep unnoticed, but these past few times he'd been more paranoid than usual. At the calling of a bird, the snap of a twig, what could be an echo of a voice carried on the breeze, Arthur's shackles were raised the way the kitchen mouser cat's were when it smelled a rat in the pantry. Alfred knew why; He'd been seen by the Ace that time. Only briefly, and on the road too - he hadn't even been with Alfred. But he'd asked his name and he'd told him not to come around those parts anymore, he'd said they could be dangerous. But Alfred hadn't heard of much danger near the palace and Arthur had said he hadn't liked the way he'd said it, like it was a threat or something. And Arthur said he wasn't sure of the Ace, said that he made him feel weird as if the Ace knew something about him he didn't. It was pretty  
heavy stuff to think after only meeting someone once but Alfred didn't argue with Arthur about it much because he seemed so scared; he'd laughed when Arthur called the Ace creepy the first time and Arthur shot him a look as sharp as daggers.

"I have to get back anyway," Arthur replied hastily over his shoulder, unwinding the horse's rope from around the tree trunk.

"But I thought you didn't have to work today?" Alfred tried his best not to sound whiny but that desperate high note was edging into his voice, reverting momentarily to the prepubescent tone he'd finally grown out of.

"I said I didn't have to work this _morning_ ," Arthur turned to him and gave him an emphatic look, "besides, that just means more people will notice I'm gone."

Alfred opened his mouth to protest further but seeing no real argument to be made - none that would change Arthur's mind anyway - he crossed his arms and gave a sigh, feeling, as he did so, just like the eleven year old boy that pouted his lip every time Arthur said he had to leave him.

"When will you come back?" Alfred settled for asking.

Arthur paused, a hand on his horse's side, pack slung over his shoulder.

"Five days," he concluded at last, "same time."

"...Okay," Alfred agreed, but five days seemed like forever in his head, he just didn't want Arthur to find him childish.

There was a silence as the two seemed to consider each other. Goodbyes were also hesitant between them; there had been times in Alfred's slightly younger years when he might have hugged him, much to Arthur's protesting, but now the prospect made him want to flush in embarrassment.

Another crack somewhere a little ways off made Arthur move again, beginning to hitch himself onto his horse. As he got himself steady, Alfred noticed him screw up his face a little in pain.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, simultaneously spying the tear in the back of Arthur's trousers that the older boy was glancing down at and reaching for it instinctively, "what happened? Did something get you?"

"It's just a scratch," Arthur replied almost irritably, waving Alfred's hands away, " it's nothing."

Alfred frowned, still attempting to peer at the wound with little luck.

"You should..." Alfred, still searching for what he was imagining was a great chunk of leg missing from Arthur's calf - possibly removed by a wolf - spoke vaguely, " you should be careful."

Arthur looked down at Alfred for a few moments with a slight gaze of concern, like a dusting of perplexity over his features. At last he laughed, not loudly or anything like that, but his eyebrows knitted together for a second and it sort of tumbled out as if a complete accident.

"I'll be just fine you twit."

And before Alfred could be offended or amused or confused, he was being reminded of the way Arthur had laughed when he'd shot the rabbit down and how it made him feel like he was worth something truly great and with this memory he was leaving Arthur by the horse and turning on his heel to race through the hard leaves.

"Wait- Alfred?" Arthur leant up from where he was gripping his horse's reigns and called after the other boy, his alarm overtaking his caution as Alfred disappeared momentarily from sight.

He was back in seconds with his hands clasped to his chest, breathing a little more heavily than before .

"I didn't want you to go without this," he panted, meeting Arthur's eye and opening his hands to reveal the curled up rabbit, " breakfast."

And Arthur gave him the smile he longed for at last.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Reviews are loved very much if you can spare one! :)

See you soon~!


	12. A Scratch

**Chapter 14: A Scratch**

Curse the bloody scratch, Arthur thought, patting the wound Alfred had spotted absent mindedly.

That's what had him so worried wasn't it? That's what he couldn't stop thinking about. How had he even mustered the nerve to visit Alfred when he had such a solid, clear warning against it? But that was always the case. He scoffed at the fact that Alfred told him to 'be careful'. The prince of spades didn't realise what being 'careful' meant anymore. Seeing him any at all wasn't careful for a start. Unofficially borrowing a horse to do so even less so. Teaching him to hunt? Near fatal. Bloody Princes aside, even walking on the street without a uniform was not careful these days.

But it had been a matter of days and he couldn't convince himself fully of what he might be trifling with enough to see sense. And so he went to Alfred as usual and acted as if nothing was wrong.

He had to face up to the risk at some point though.

So why not face it now? Magnus was tied up in the old Warehouse stables and he was on his brisk way through the dirt streets at last. He dodged a cart on the roadside, broken and stripped of any produce, abandoned by its owner. He saw what might be the remains of a cabbage trodden into the stagnant mud of the bank and had to grit his teeth as he passed. They had cabbage anyway, lots and lots of cabbage - only cabbage many evenings.

So he returned to the moment when he'd recieved the scratch once more: the cold, the shadow of the early morning, the faint glow on the silver trees which stretched on either side, the ground, hard and unyielding, pushing up through the thin soles of his shoes to chill his feet, the ghost moon still visible in the dawn sky through the trees. That's what distracted him from the trail of the squirrel he had been stalking momentarily, that ghostly silhouette of the moon above his head. That was when he felt the first shivers of his own isolation, the trees seemed closer, as if cradling him on all sides. The feeling was extinguished by the sound of leaves being disturbed faintly somewhere nearby and Arthur, wary of the beasts within the belly of the forest, was immediately on guard, loading his bow and peering into the trees. His heart rate quickened and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up; something was eyeing him up, he felt it.

He should have left then; ignorance is bliss and all that. It wouldn't have done him much more good he supposed but at least he wouldn't have to keep thinking about it like this. Instead of fleeing he had tried scoping out the noise - got braver, thought maybe it was a deer, something big to take home, something Mel would be awestruck with - and Peter too. He listened closely to where he thought it could be, stepping tentatively. It was during this cautious search that he lost awareness of the way he'd come. He felt himself begin to lose hope - there was no deer in sight, the squirrel was long gone, time kept moving regardless. And Tim was more irritable these days than ever. Antonio, who was increasingly absent from the Warehouse of late, wasn't even going to be there to take the brunt of his annoyance. So he gave up.

Arthur broke free from his thoughts momentarily as he passed the arms shop Antonio used to love so much, It was boarded at the windows but the top floor curtain inched open slightly as Arthur went by, just a flicker of movement, as if issued by the hand of a ghost.

But, he considered (returning to that moment in the woods once more) it had been in that instance of giving up, slowly turning with tired shoulders, lowering his bow, loosening his grip, that the wind was taken from his lungs as a shooting pain seared across his leg with a rush of air beside him. He remembered the call of a bird fleeing a tree branch followed by a dull, short crack of wood mirroring the dull, short cry of surprise he uttered. Reaching down to the source of the hurt and cursing under his breath Arthur glimpsed the strange object now protruding from the tree trunk just beside him. And, distracted from the sting in his leg, realised the object was not so strange. He furrowed his brow and abandoned his leg to touch the arrow stuck firmly in the wood of the tree. He gasped to see his fingers leave bloody trails on the pale wood. The sight of blood set his heart beating again and, realising with panic that it was his own, he peered into the trees, ducking down hurriedly and unsteadily. For a moment, a split second only, he thought he saw something, no more than a shadow really, faint and pale like mist shifting in the distance - but it may have been his eyes playing tricks on him. Still, it had been enough to send a cold shudder of fear through his stomach and he hitched his bow back over his shoulder and began to move off, disoriented and heavy footed in the direction he hoped led home. And all that time running back (and it had been a Long time before he eventually found the river again) it had raced through his mind that someone had just grazed him with that arrow, someone had been in that forest watching him. And why would they shoot at him? Not the best shot, he couldn't help but think - perhaps they were aiming for something else? But then why not respond to Arthur's cry of pain? Had the Ace's words been more than a threat? Surely the Ace wouldn't have shot him in the leg, that seemed absurd, but anyone might have clocked him as the boy who visits the palace. Visits, and yet never goes in the front gates. Anyone could assume that he was up to no good. All it took was a wild sense of patriotism and Arthur was going to end up with an arrow _in_ him instead of just grazing him. The guards had been getting increasingly aggressive lately, those bastards who thought they had so much authority that -

"Get your hands off me!"

Arthur's frantic tirade of anxious thoughts was shattered by the jarring sound of shouting in the square - a square which today should have stood empty save for muttering beggars on the corners and the clusters of litter blowing across the paving stones. Seeing the scrum of figures clustered in the centre of the space outside the old village hall, Arthur had half a mind to turn on his heel and take the back streets home. Trouble these days was nothing you wanted to be a part of - not when it was public like this. Staying invisible was of higher importance than ever, keeping your head down was the only way to keep your head at all. But something about the ruckus out in the square made him break his policy of transparency to listen to what was going on, pause by the corner, just out of sight of anyone involved and eavesdrop the way you were scolded for as a child.

"Stand down!" Came a barking reply to the first shout, "Attacking a guard is a felony!"

"fighting your protectors is foolish!" A second commanding voice joined the first as if in some loud, oppressive harmony, "And you have a right to consider what we ask!"

"No way in hell! There's no chance!" The initial voice spat back passionately.

Arthur's jaw went slack and he had a feeling in the back of his mind like a brick slipping into place in a wall. He recognised the voice. How could he not have known that voice? Of all the voices it could have been, it really should not have come as a surprise. But he felt it all the same, along with the slow icy churn of dread in his stomach. Why? why did Antonio insist on getting himself into these things?

"You're a traitor to your leaders!" The guards were growing tired of him now and their complaints swelled, their voices ebbing and flowing with the motion they must be caught in with Antonio. Arthur saw them in his mind, holding back his arms, clamping his fists.

"This is not the time to be selfish, you lowlife!"

"I could not give two shits about my 'leaders' or you two fools or any of it!" Antonio's voice now came out in rough pants, his physical tiring reflected in his lack of breath.

"Don't you now?" This hard statement was followed by the sound of Antonio grunt in pain, his voice contorting around the sound.

Arthur felt a real harsh tug for the first time. That old feeling again, the one which bound him to his best friend. The one that likened the sound of his pain to the sound of fingernails down a chalkboard. And as if powerless to stop himself he left the safety of the splintered shop corner and headed for the centre of the square with no clear thought as to what he would do.

He could see them now, one guard, the larger of the two, in navy uniform which stretched taut around him, twisting Antonio's arm harshly behind his back with another meaty hand hooked within the roots of his hair. The second man held a roster under the arm and was pressing sharply into Antonio's foot with the hard, polished heel of his shoe. His face was sharp and beaked like a crow's.

"You insolent. filthy. cretin!" With each spat word, the guard crushed that black, shiny heel into Antonio's shoe like the crow pecking at a worm in the earth, Arthur's old friend issuing a muffled groan each time.

Unable to take it any longer, Arthur felt his mouth open, hesitating only to allow the feeling in his stomach subside. But when he did open his panicked vocal chords to utter the shout that he hoped would send the guards dissipating into the breeze he was confused to hear that his voice did not sound like his own at all.

"Hey! What d'you think you're doing with that boy?"

Tall, brazen and furious, Tim Peters strode into the chaotic triangle of abuse, holding an arm out in front of him and an expression of mild annoyance on his face.

"This is no concern of yours!"

"Isn't it?" his features flinched now the way a curtain might flinch to flash a glimpse of the fire dwelling within, "that shitbag you're tossing around happens to work for me, and I won't be too happy to see him too crippled for duty - in fact, I'm sure the Jack of Spades would agree."

Perhaps it was his tone, or maybe his size - or merely the phrase 'too crippled for duty' - that made the guards hesitate. Antonio, who's head had been hanging, dark hair matted and falling over his eyes, looked up at Tim. Arthur noticed a bleeding cut beneath his eye where the guard must have clipped him. But Antonio was giving Tim a look, a weary, perplexed look which said: 'why are you bothering with me? I haven't been to work in weeks'.

"Who do you think you are, peasant?" The heavier man spoke first, smirking at Tim, puffing out his chest as if to reinstate himself as the alpha male. Arthur could almost see his buttons strain against the action, "I'll have you know you're boy spat at me when he passed - do you not think he should be taught respect?"

"Peters...Timothy Peters," The tall man let the name roll off his tongue, unperturbed, Arthur even saw him pick at his nails briefly, as if more occupied by the grit beneath them,"I own The Warehouse, you may know it? I often find myself tending to the...needs of many of your kind. And I think he'll be taught as much respect as he can hold working under me here."

He eyed the two men sharply and with considerable distaste. They glanced at one another as if in question, sweat on the large man's brow catching the light, the crow's beady eyes narrowing.

"I...may have heard of the place while I've been on duty here," the sweating one commented, his grip on Antonio's arm loosening slightly, only by an inch or so.

"-B-but! - you understand that this young man should have at least an inkling of respect for his kingdom!" the second was quick to reinforce, but his eyes could no longer hold Tim's gaze as surely.

"And what d'you think he's up to working for me then, eh?" Tim snarled at the guards, flashing a hint of his temper once more, flaunting it more like, Arthur thought. It was all for show; he wanted to scare them.

"Shifting crates is not bravery!" They seemed to tense up again, digging their claws back into Antonio's protesting limbs. The boy himself coughed and let out a yell as they did so, writhing slightly in a vain attempt to shake off their hold, hands balled in fists.

Tim's expression stayed as stony and flat as the surface of an undisturbed pond but Arthur's waters were churning again. They weren't going to back down. He began to reconsider yelling at them, drawing their attention for a moment at least. But it was a second later that the guards attentions were drawn by something else entirely: the sound of footsteps, quick and uneven with the tap of heels. Women's footsteps.

"Tim!" She called breathily as she neared, "what is it? You promised no more trouble."

Appearing from behind them, Belle joined the uncomfortable meeting, holding a hand over her mouth upon seeing Antonio, bent double and hounded by guards.

"Belle, what are doing out here?" Tim seemed irritated and worried and uncertain upon seeing her, torn between giving her his full attention and keeping one eye on the two uniformed men to his left, "Go back inside! This isn't safe for you - not in your condition."

As Belle shifted to stand beside her brother and her long shawl was disturbed by the wind. Arthur couldn't help but feel shocked at the way her stomach swelled. At the consolidation of the shameless village whispers. Surely she had not been showing so much the last time he saw her? He knew, of course hhe'd known for a while, but he had not considered the reality of Belle's condition. And out here was no place for someone carrying a child to be.

The guards seemed to catch sight of Belle's swollen belly (to which she held a nervous hand) and blanche slightly. Arthur wondered what Toni might have been thinking thinking, seeing her out here like this.

"What are you doing with him?" Belle, ignorant of her brother's dissuasive hand on her wrist, pointed an un-shaking finger at the guard who's fat hands were making red rings on Antonio's arms.

"Leave it, Belle!" Antonio and Tim uttered in the same second as if the whole awful thing was staged.

She frowned, putting her hands to her hips.

"You won't take him against his will, you won't because my brother-!' Just as Belle was stepping forward to continue her vicious reasoning there was the sound of riotous laughter, raucous and loud, from a street beyond followed by the shocking echoes of something like gunshots, resonating and intruding in the quiet of the town. Arthur could not hold back a flinch which only seemed to worsen the growing heated feeling in his stomach.

Looking back to the scene in the square he was surprised to see the guards drop Antonio's arms roughly and consider the ruckus in the next street, hard, dissatisfied looks on their faces.

"We know where you work," one muttered, staring at Antonio first and then both Tim and Belle, "we know all of you."

And it was the most threatening thing he'd uttered for the entire ordeal but a moment later he turned on his heel and was barking in the direction of the street beyond like a dog distracted by a squirrel, the other close behind, giving Antonio a kick for good measure.

And so why was Arthur's stomach still hot and knotted? Why did seeing Antonio, Tim and Belle stand together now like a hardened family watching their house burn to ashes make him feel even worse? He wanted to call out and congratulate them, reassure them. But what would they say to him? That he was just as brave for watching on as he did? He had thought about shouting - more than once. But really what good was thinking? Thinking wouldn't have stopped them taking Toni, forcing him to sign up - just like they had Karlos. He felt like his own worst enemy; too cautious when it mattered, completely careless otherwise.

Arthur resolved to approach at long last, watching Antonio turn to Tim sheepishly.

"Uh, thanks, you saved my hide," he rubbed at the marks on his wrists, " and, yeah, about work...-"

"Turn up tomorrow or don't come back," Tim interrupted sharply, but surprisingly forgivingly.

"Oh, okay, right, thanks sir," Antonio's eyebrows rose as he responded.

"C'mon Belle," Tim muttered, turning swiftly and beginning to walk in the opposite direction across the square.

Belle hesitated before following, glancing over her shoulder at her brother and then back at Antonio with a look of uncertainty in her eye.

"You should go home Belle," Antonio held her eye and spoke with concern rather than dismissal - though his tone was a little clipped.

"...Yes, alright" was all she replied slowly.

A little delayed, she nodded as if to reiterate this statement and began to back away after her brother, who had beckoned her more harshly again, one protective hand still curled around her stomach.

Arthur didn't know who's baby it was. He had asked Belle and she, for all her gossiping, would not tell him. He'd had to bear the details of every boy she had kissed behind the schoolhouse, the re-telling of Antonio's own confession to her all those years ago on several occasions - but this? Not a peep. It was her one point of stubbornness, where she would shake her head hard and cross her arms over her stomach. Of course, he had suspicions. Well...just one suspicion. But asking Antonio had been too embarrassing a thought to entertain. So he went on not knowing. He knew little about what Antonio and Belle's relationship had been - still was now even - over the past couple of years. It was strange considering they were both his closest friends but, on the whole, little had changed between them at first, although he'd been incredibly sensitive with it. He had flared up at any touch, glance, hug which he saw to be even vaguely romantic, made excuses to leave at unnecessary times, became melancholy or embarrassed at the smallest things. Then everything around them started changing and whether Antonio and Belle held hands on the way to the Goose became less and less important. So he went on not knowing.

"Toni," he uttered finally, as he came within a couple of metres of his friend, surprised to hear his own voice crack slightly as he approached.

The older boy spun round to see him, momentarily baffled and then - there it was - the easy grin as per usual, though it faded more quickly than it may have done a year or so before and was replaced with an almost pleading look, like he would cry. Arthur thought, there were some things he wished would not change.

"Ah, Arthur... I'm glad to see you and not another one of those scum," he wiped the blood from his cheek and mustered another weak smile.

"Oh, yeah, I saw them leaving just now..." Arthur's pride got the better of him revealing his witnessing the whole affair, "...Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, good, actually, they just shook me about a bit, you know how it is," he tried to keep the smile up, shrugging his shoulders and shaking out his twisted shirt. He kept looking at Arthur as if to say something more, mouth opening, eyes with that same look which followed his initial smile.

Arthur nodded eventually and for a few moments there was a silence between them, short but empty. Arthur resented it. He didn't see Antonio as much as he used to, he could not recall the last time they'd gone hunting together, though it must have been only a few weeks ago.

"Will you come back to the warehouse?" Arthur broke the silence to ask.

"Maybe," Antonio sighed and suddenly looked tired, "sorry I went and abandoned you there."

"You had others things to do, I know" Arthur was quick to reassure with a shrug which was too jerky, "besides, I'm alright there."

Perhaps he was keen to assure Antonio that he didn't need him, or too scared to admit how much he had missed his company.

"Yeah," Toni gave a half smile, "You were always better coping there than me anyway."

Arthur shrugged, uncertain as to how to respond. He supposed in some ways he had been: always disappearing off on delivery runs, waving back at Antonio behind as he lugged crates in Kattleroot. Although Antonio had been a better worker in lots of ways.

"Tim works me as hard as ever," Arthur replied as means of an answer.

"Don't go and work yourself too hard though, Turnip," Antonio impulsively reached out a hand to touch Arthur's hair, hesitating as he acknowledged the action, and forgetting the usual ruffle, just leaving it there, partially entangled.

Whether the habit or the nickname, something made him tense up uncomfortably. Arthur held his breath, the action had been so instinctive and it was familiar and yet...and yet it felt strange now that he was no longer that 13 year old boy anymore.

"How's Felix?" Arthur thought to ask, rather abruptly and awkwardly.

Antonio's smile dissipated and seemed to fracture as it did so, leaving lines of concern over his face. His hand fell from Arthur's hair. Arthur was immediately sorry for asking about his sick brother.

"Not so good," Antonio's reply came with a grimace, " not so good."

* * *

A/N:

Hello hello, sorry for huge delays! Lots has been going on with me and the story has kinda been at the back of mind. .

BUT thank you those who reviewed in the mean time - you gave me the kick to get this out to you at last ahah! Anyway, I feel like this chapter is quite uneventful but I'll try hard to get another one out soon as I can.

Thanks for reading! :)


	13. A Question of War

**Chapter 15: A Question of War**

Alfred shrugged off his jacket, giving a sigh of relief as he slipped through the kitchen back door unnoticed. The stove was going and, distracted by the thick aroma spilling from a pot with a rattling lid, Alfred hesitated to lift it and take a peek. He was unsuspecting of the heat in the lid and yelped in pain, dropping it back with a clatter, some of the bubbling liquid spilling over the side in the process.

"What was that?" He heard the gruff voice of the female chef, Mrs Cornstap, yell from the pantry and blanched, backing away along the kitchen flagstones, "that damn cat better not be at the soup!'

Alfred liked Mrs Cornstap's cooking but found the woman herself terrifying. She always had a red face which would wobble with anger if she was annoyed. She had whiskers on her chin too - Alfred had learned the hard way not to point this out in her presence. Despite this, when he was younger she would give him treats and ruffle his hair, call him a 'little man', but she wasn't so nice to him now, she said boys his age were up to no good. She said all men were the same which Alfred protested to no avail. Anyway, Alfred didn't want to get on her bad side.

As he stumbled away anxiously he collided with a sack of potatoes, sending a few stray ones skittering across the floor. He cursed quietly under his breath. Why was he so clumsy? Although they ought not to leave sacks all over the place! Anyone could have tripped over those.

"You stupid cat!" her coarse, loud voice grew closer and Alfred's heart beat escalated as he saw three potatoes escaping through his legs in the direction of the pantry.

Mrs Cornstap wasn't just mean, she was a snitch. She'd tell the Jack he was in here when he should have been playing chess with Matthew and then who knows what he'd do.

He hastily attempted to reposition the potatoes until a clatter from the pantry and a husky curse caused him to abandon the job and make for the door.

* * *

"Alfie!" Someone called as he leant against the doors to the grand palace foyer in exhaustion having fled Mrs Cornstap's wrath by as little as a second. There were very few young female voices at the palace; Angelique was difficult to miss.

"Morning, Angelique," Alfred replied contentedly enough - at least she was not the Jack.

He straightened wearily, trying to pull a natural smile as she approached, the flounces in her silk dress bobbing in the breeze she created as she came to meet him. Her heels made sharp sounds on the polished stone. Facing him she seemed to compose herself, straighten her back and tilt her chin up as if trying to see it for herself, all things he was sure they were teaching her about in classes and were also somewhat amusing to watch.

"Go on!" she urged emphatically as Alfred did little but smile at her politely and play anxiously with the cuffs of his shirt, a small blood stain on the left one from the rabbit.

"Uh, sorry?" Alfred drew a blank at what she was urging, this was always happening, he felt perhaps he should be going to more of those classes himself, "Um, are you well?"

Was that it?

"Kisses!" She exclaimed, clasping her hands together, "like I showed you!"

"O-oh, yeah, that," Alfred rather nervously leant to kiss Angelique on either cheek, feeling awkward and clumsy as he did so. Her perfume smelled like the purple flowers in the courtyard and it was a scent which overwhelmed and, for some reason, embarrassed him, "I can't get used to that...sorry."

"They all do it in the Diamonds kingdom!" Angelique replied with a toss of her curled hair ( she liked to wear it tied with two ribbons) and an almost rueful smile, "Hearts too!"

"Yeah?" Alfred gave a sheepish quirk of the eyebrow, " I guess it's a bit classy for me...and I haven't been to Hearts since I was little - or Diamonds."

She shrugged. Alfred tried not to begin a fresh bout of worrying over his lack of culture. He could see it all again this year. That's what Yao said.

"Anyway, Alfie, haven't you heard? There's a ruckus outside the gates!" she seemed excited by this for some reason and Alfred wondered if they'd received a shipment of something good, or perhaps the rest of the Card Council were here early for the winter deliberation.

"What do you mean?" Alfred was fairly intrigued, either way.

"Come on, I'll show you," she grabbed his hand and began dragging him over to the foyer windows, " you can see it all perfectly well from here - it's the workers, you see, I think they're all upset over something..."

"Did you say workers?" Alfred abandoned Angelique's hand to crane his neck at the scene outside the window, just visible behind the grand palace gates, "oh wow...those ones in black shirts, they're like a group. It's not good that they're here-"

"No, it's not," Angelique interrupted, " they're going to send the Ace to meet them! It's quite exciting - but troublesome, really."

"There are problems with conditions all over the place - and the taxes we need for training soldiers - people in villages are travelling to cities about it even, I've heard, and they have a name for them there, I can't exactly remember... but it's actually making some trouble there- in fact, last week-" Alfred stopped dead as it struck him that he was preparing to launch into a tale Arthur had told him about his boss's anger at good workers taking off with hopeless ambitions, "well...I thought I saw someone else in one of those shirts at the gates..."

"Whenever did you find out about it all?" Angelique asked incredulously.

"...Yao told me," Alfred tried to look at her honestly. It seemed to work.

"I wish the Jack would confide in me so," she replied with dissatisfaction that surprised Alfred, who had never thought Angelique to be someone who cared for their classes much.

This sort of thing was happening to Alfred with increasing frequency. He found that the things Arthur told him had startling relevance to the things he was to learn at home, about the kingdom, about the people. The Jack was pleased with him in classes of a social or historical kind in a way he had never been before, but could not fathom why there had been such an improvement. Of course Alfred could not say, for he had a very illegitimate tutor.

Alfred turned from Angelique and looked at the cluster of disgruntled men and women in dismay.

"I don't like it," he muttered.

"Yes, I suppose you'll inherit all this fuss soon won't you?" Angelique pulled the face Alfred always thought was meant to resemble a sick kitten and stroked him on the arm as some means of comfort which only made him a little uneasy, "you'll have to find your own ways of keeping them away."

"I don't just want to 'keep them away'!" Alfred felt frustrated and suddenly claustrophobic, Angelique hanging on his arm, " I want to solve their problems properly!"

He really did. He supposed years ago he felt just as Angelique did. 'People in the country unhappy? What a pain, I wish the Jack would deal with them soon'. Not a real thought for what the problems might be. And yes, they were not so simple to solve, there might always be someone barking at the gates, but he'd give his best shot to try!

"I'm sure you will solve things...when you're king," she considered, continuing to peer outside, guards at the gate waving off the small crowd which had accumulated, "uncle says they are reluctant to join the forces - but suppose Clubs do attempt something and we aren't prepared? Ridiculous! I would join!"

Alfred was tempted to ask: "why don't you then?" In fact he very nearly did before realizing it was probably rude.

The truth was, Angelique was sure she was already queen - as good as. And Alfred wasn't completely blind, he knew that's why she had stayed on at the palace for almost two years, why they introduced them together, taught them together - why they protected her with guards and the Ace and now, it seemed, an army, just as much as he. But she would have to fight, control a navy, support all that he did - if she was chosen, that is. Because he knew, he knew the signs, but he still hadn't accepted them as truth yet.

And Alfred...well, if there ever _was_ a war it was as much his as problem as anyone's: as soon as he was of age it would be his army, his war. But surely the Jack would not put him in that position. Surely there was another explanation for what was going on down at the training post in the north which for so many years lay unused...

"Alfie?" Angelique asked and Alfred realised he had been silently watching the Ace address the crowd with a hand raised and had not responded to her.

"Sorry," he turned to her to find the strange sick kitten look in her eyes and her pout and her hands still on his arm, looking at him from under her lashes. He could never work her out.

Alfred could recall telling Arthur about Angelique, about the idea that she could be his queen. He was just starting to think he understood the Jack more then - about not needing love in marriage.

"Not that I've stopped believing in that," he had reaffirmed assuringly when they had spoken, " I just understand more about kings and queens now - do you know, the last time the clubs royals were staying I found out that Queen Elizaveta is in love with the Jack of Clubs! I saw him kiss her in the king's presence - though I suppose she is a gutsy Queen."

Even Arthur was surprised at that - Alfred could tell from the way his eyebrows raised - but something was off with him when they talked that time. Alfred confessed that he did not think he could fall in love with Angelique properly, but she was very pretty, wasn't she? But, he further confessed, more embarrassed to add this, he really didn't know much about pretty girls or about falling in love. His curiosity got the better of him and he couldn't resist probing Arthur about his own experiences - about whether he had ever been in love. Did he know what the signs were? So Alfred would look out for any. Arthur had hunched up, put his hands in his pockets, looked down, seemed...angry with him.

"Of course not, I mean, obviously I know about it, but no! It's very simple really, it's just..." Arthur had trailed off, his anger losing steam until he met Alfred's eye and just looked lost.

Desperate for a better explanation, Alfred had only frowned in response.

"So, I'll easily know?" he asked both hopefully and tentatively.

"...Well, look...okay," Arthur eventually sighed, rubbing his forehead, "...I guess, just don't pin all your hopes on love. I can say that. It sounds like something anyone would say without meaning it at all, I know, but...I know it's true."

And he didn't answer more of Alfred's questions or succumb to his prying, and left in a hurry that day and Alfred was left dissatisfied but certain; he should not pin his hopes on love.

"Oh! Let us do something fun today Alfred!" Angelique's exasperation delivered him back to the lofty Spades foyer, " Everything is so serious sometimes."

"Mattie's meant to be playing chess now, we could meet him and maybe-" Alfred was interrupted.

"Ohh, we don't need Mattie to have fun!" She began turning idly about the cold, polished floor, " and chess is so dull."

"Alright..." Alfred watched her spin in soft circles, watched the shapes her dress made, "what do you think is fun?"

She slowed to a complete stop and looked at him with a frown, folding her arms. There was silence. She sighed, stamped her foot slightly and then turned away from him. Just as she began to talk once more the reverberating sound of the shutting door made them both whirl around in surprise.

Alfred's heart sank to see Mattie, his morning alibi, meekly following the Jack of Spades into the room.

"Your majesty," Yao announced solemnly as he strode across the stones, " I was worried not to find you with your brother, I trust you had somewhere else important to be?"

Alfred felt the familiar stinging pin pricks of a sweat tingle on his skin at the prospect of a quick lie - something he was terrible at.

"Oh, yeah, no - I had to...there was just this thing and-" he garbled like a fish caught from the sea, flapping limply on the rocks as it hung onto its last leases of life.

"He has been with me all morning," Angelique cut in swiftly, seeming upbeat once more, "helping with my arithmetic!"

Alfred eyed her with confusion and scrutiny. He had only just met with her - she couldn't possibly- it clicked into place at last that she was making an excuse for him and he began to nod fervently in agreement. The Jack observed him with suspicion for a moment before releasing a sigh and smoothing his hair.

"Alright," the word left his mouth with considerable difficulty, as if his lips willed it to remain sealed within," young people are always off on whims I suppose - but you two cannot just disappear any place, any time - it's important we know your location at all times," he let out one more strained sigh," anyway, your highness, I came to fetch you and Matthew to inform you that the Card Council is due to be here tomorrow for Winter Deliberation - there are obvious preparations to be made."

"Tomorrow?" Alfred felt a swell of both excitement and anxiety well in his stomach, "as in, tomorrow, tomorrow?"

"Yes, your highness," Yao kept a relatively flat gaze on him, persevering stoically, "when I say tomorrow I do generally mean...tomorrow."

Alfred, closed his open mouth and tried to have some more dignity about him, suddenly more aware of the dirt on his shoes.

"Go with Matthew," the Jack, directed at last, gesturing to Alfred's somewhat weary looking brother, "the Ace will meet you in the classroom once he is...no longer engaged."

Alfred nodded emphatically, now anxious to be out of Yao's sharp sight. Angelique made a tottering move to follow him just as Yao caught her lightly by the arm.

"Not you, Lady Mancham," he uttered shortly and solemnly, "we will resume your practice in the study as usual."

Her posture changed, her shoulders slumped slightly and her raised heel touched back down with one dull 'tap'.

"Yes, sir," she answered, raising her eyes to his, "I'm sure it will happen this time."

"I don't doubt that you will try your best."

She looked back at Alfred as she followed the Jack in the opposite direction. He did not turn back to see her glance and she felt a little put out, for he had not acknowledged or thanked her for covering for him.

* * *

"Do you think it's because of the war preparations?" Alfred and his brother sat perpendicular to one another, Matthew gazing forward, out the wide classroom window to the frigid winter scene beyond as his younger brother perched on the side of his chair, the one with the wobbling leg, questioning Matthew about the expedited Winter Deliberation.

"Hm, maybe," Matthew, tilted his head as if to ponder this, " I just find it all too..."

"What? Find what 'too...'?" Alfred probed eagerly as Mattie trailed off, rocking on his seat without realising and wobbling along with the broken leg.

"This war stuff," Matthew glanced at his brother uneasily as if fearful of insulting him, "it's all too...conspicuous."

"What do you mean?" Alfred cocked his head, "Matt?"

The Ace of Spades chose that moment to enter the classroom, boots echoing authoritatively on the floor, he nodded at the brothers - not as curtly as Yao may have done - but with a kind of detached resignation. The varnished door was pressed open a fraction wider by something either invisible or extremely short and the Ace tripped slightly, his authority buckling a little as he did so, a quiet 'huff' of surprise escaping his mouth.

"Anubis!" he muttered in irritation, brow furrowing beneath his keffiyeh.

A black greyhound appeared beside Alfred's chair, tail thumping against the wooden table leg as it wagged happily, gazing up at the boy. It didn't look dopey like most dogs; its tongue didn't loll out of its mouth like the gardener's terrier's did. Its eyes were dark and big, it kept them unblinkingly set upon Alfred.

"Awh, hey there fella," Alfred patted the dog on its muzzle, scratching it behind the ears the way Magnus, Arthur's horse, liked.

The dog closed its eyes but made no further show of enjoyment.

"I apologise for my friend," the Ace straightened up, having been scouring for many signs of Anubis beneath the desks, "Anubis isn't normally like this."

"He's sweet," Alfred replied, smiling down at the slim creature.

"She's a girl," was the Ace's short, though not necessarily unkind reply.

"Oh! Sorry, miss," Alfred chuckled, continuing to pet the dog which now opened its eyes and blinked at him slowly.

Matthew snorted quietly into his hand, both embarrassed and a little relieved that his brother was still such a goofball.

"Anubis," the Ace called, "come, girl!"

Obediently, she left Alfred to sit behind her master, her restrained expression and poise suggesting intelligence which was beyond most canines. The Ace, seeming more relaxed to have the dog in his sights, patted a hand on the greying fur on her head and frowned only momentarily before replacing it at his side.

"Anyway," the Ace addressed them more formally at last, folding his arms over the front of his khaki uniform, Alfred caught sight of his military badge as he did so, " I came to discuss the Winter Deliberation with you both, I know you weren't expecting it so soon..."

"Will Clubs attend?" Alfred blurted immediately, again leaning forward on his wobbling chair. He had spoken out of turn, but his anticipation got the better of him.

Matthew shot him a scolding, anxious glance before turning to the Ace, shamefully awaiting his response as eagerly as Alfred did.

The Ace watched the two with a steady, solemn gaze. Alfred braced for a sharp response.

"Clubs have not yet confirmed who will attend," to the surprise of the two brothers, the Ace replied without anger or annoyance, only clasped hands, "we won't know until tomorrow."

Alfred was silent. The answer surprised and worried him. He had asked with the expectation of being scolded for nonsense and, honestly, the truth was much more concerning. Beside him he heard Mattie's breath slowly exhale.

"However, I wanted to talk to the two of you about all this 'war' sensation," the Ace continued to address the interested eyes in front of him without excitement, "I want to clear it up - I know you've been in the dark about it - you more so, Alfred, as Mattie's been assisting me with recruitment business."

Alfred jabbed his brother in the side sharply, " very conspicuous, Mattie!" he whispered incredulously, still not entirely sure what the term meant.

"Actually, I was trying to be inconspicuous..." Matthew muttered back sheepishly, enduring Alfred's sharp jabs.

"We are _not_ entering into a war at present," the Ace caught their attention once more, silencing their mutters, "Spades has been weak for a long time - that's what mergence period does to a kingdom - with no king and queen, Spades has grown complacent - now is simply a time of action, of rectification. I'm taking my appointment as Ace seriously because I want to protect you two, what is left of the royal family."

They kept their gazes on the Ace, feeling a little uncomfortable when faced with the training of an army simply to protect the two of them - it was more than that of course - it was about the livelihood of the kingdom...but when the Ace put it like this...

"It's no secret that border tensions between Clubs and Spades have existed for centuries and I am by no means taken aback by their negative reaction to the activity here... I would not normally have reason to fear Clubs, only..." the Ace seemed to falter for a moment, breaking eye contact as if distracted by something outside the window, "I hear things these days about groups from Clubs who hope to take Spades from the inside out...nothing that couldn't be dealt with quickly enough...but those things have consequences I don't want to see happen again."

Alfred swallowed, remembering the story Angelique had told him about the boy that died. A shiver ran up his spine. He opened his mouth to speak, only to have it clamp shut again as he thought better of prying further.

"I have just one thing to ask of the two of you on this matter," the Ace went on, " if you see anyone near the palace - anyone - report to me about it," he glanced from one brother to the other," because sightings link back to a report suggesting someone is watching the palace, someone who returns and who may not be acting alone. We need you to take the utmost care."

Alfred was silent, he felt the Ace's eyes on him, his brother's eyes - even more agonisingly knowing - upon him and sensed a rising heat in his cheeks at being beneath their gazes, the way an ant singes beneath a magnifying glass in the sun.

"Yes, sir," Alfred nodded, relieved that his brother ceased looking at him to nod along at the Ace with him.

He was mortified by his brother's glances and chewed on the inside of his mouth, not able to look properly at the Ace. He didn't know what turned his stomach more: the insinuation that Arthur's frequent presence had been noticed and reacted to, or the thought that Alfred, in his friendship with the boy, had naively made the kingdom vulnerable to other villainous strangers wandering outside the palace walls.

But surely you can't just cage up a prince! Alfred thought stubbornly, like he was a baby they kept from catching cold, swathed in blankets, hands bound to its sides. He felt the weight of it, of not having seen his own capital from outside the walls, the familiarity of the palace's every nook and cranny. Why shouldn't he step outside sometimes! Why shouldn't he have a friend. And he realised, as he had realised to some extent earlier without acknowledging it, that he couldn't abandon Arthur even though the Ace implied it inadvertently, even though Mattie looked at him like that. He was old enough to know selfish qualities but not to deny himself the indulgence of them. But he couldn't bear the thought of life day in day out where Arthur played no part and he knew that by just how much he thought of him. Those times when he'd remember some words he'd spoken to him and say them aloud in conversation with those around him. Arthur was part of him now. He was the familiar and soothing the voice in his head.

"But enough of that," the Ace kept briskly on, putting his hands together the way a villain might before recounting an evil plan, "we have a Card Council meeting to prepare for."

Alfred tried to keep his attention on the Ace and not the sinking feeling in his chest, barely noticing as the first flakes of snow pressed themselves against the stark palace window pane.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Well I said I'd get this one out quick and here it is! A bit of Alfred for a change ~

May be a bit longer before the next chapter but I'll hopefully get it out in a week or so.

Thanks to those who've stuck with the story so far and I'm so glad to hear when anyone is enjoying it !


	14. The Troubled Heart

*Throws chapter and runs*

 **The Troubled Heart**

Felix Carriedo was not a sight for someone with a weak stomach. The muggy room in which he lay did not help matters in the slightest, the chaotic swarm of family and stench of urgency which swelled around his unconscious body giving the small wooden room a dizzying quality not unlike the sway of a ship at sea. Mel was there too - she was busiest of all, holding an oily cloth up to the pungent, gruesome area on Felix's shoulder, spidering veins of burgundy beneath his chalky, unwashed skin splintering off from the infected gash. The room felt to Arthur, like a furnace which creaked and chattered and flickered with lamp light, feverish hope and rabid despair.

Peter was pressed against a wall in the corner of the room, fiddling with an old wooden soldier, not looking in the direction of despair on dirty sheets, either too afraid to, or too absorbed in the triviality of his play thing.

Arthur had heard about the accident a few days before, sawing trees in the forest - Felix, just at an age to help out had worked with the loggers for no more than a month when an accident crushed his right shoulder. Mel had visited the following day but the infection was faster than she. Even a witch had her work cut out for her here where the dirt clung to enclosing walls and the soul seemed to want to claw its way from the claustrophobic inevitability of it all.

They had not had enough training, Sophia Carriedo emphasized over and over, it had not been like this years ago, she had thought it safer, more honest than it had proven, she had meant no harm sending him to the loggers, she had wanted to feed him, feed them all. She repeated these things over and over how a man sent to hang prays before the noose, like an urgent message to them all that she had tried as his mother and an attempt to shake the cursed truth that she had failed.

"Pa hasn't touched the forge in weeks," Antonio spoke gravely to Arthur in an intimate, distant feeling corner of the sordid room with a lowered voice, "I'm out there more than him - nowhere near as good, you know I'm better with wood - but since I was a boy I always fancied I'd take over the smithing work, forge for heroes and all that," he smiled cynically," but of course I never knew there'd be as good as none about by the time it was my turn."

"Will you still do it? Take over the forge?" Arthur questioned in a murmur, Jonas moving hurriedly past him with the cleanest wash towels he could find to give his mother.

"I suppose the choice is sort of gone now," Antonio was looking at his brother with a grim expression, "my pa stays out drinking all night, especially recently, you know...and it won't do, not here, not now - someone has to earn something and if I can master the forge then there's a market for that," Antonio paused to scowl bitterly, "however much I hate that market."

Arthur was silent for a few moments, watching Peter twist the cracked wooden head of the toy soldier in repetitive circles, lamp light illuminating the concentration on his young face. Suddenly he recalled something and reached into the pack behind him swiftly.

"What's wrong?" Antonio watched him with quizzical eyes, his own face shaped by the solemn orange light of the room, making him look a little like his father.

Arthur retrieved the rabbit at last, the one Alfred had given to him, a gesture which touched him more than he would have ever admitted to the other boy.

"I thought you could use this, I know you've had less time to get out so..." Arthur didn't meet his eye, only held the thing between them.

Once, Antonio might have declined, laughingly, told him not insult him with his petty kill, he would do better himself. Now he took it from him with little hesitation.

"Thanks, Art," he said with some of his old charm.

There was another silence and Arthur was reminded of the strange moment in the square. Perhaps they were both realising they had grown up. Maybe something else.

When they left Antonio's, the three of them, Mel, Arthur and Peter, let the cold, clean, stinging air fill their lungs openly and with relief. It was almost as if that stuffy room had an air of poison which fogged their chests and clouded their hearts. The sky was dark and the ground was developing an icy white carpet of snow. peter stuck out his tongue to catch the falling flakes as they walked home.

By the time they reached the street which led them home, Arthur found himself heatedly bickering with his younger brother who persisted in prodding him in the ribs with increasing force. It wasn't until they actually reached their humble, lopsided cabin that Arthur discovered what was truly troubling him.

"Why did you give away that meat to Toni, Arthur?" peter asked suddenly and accusingly as their rickety front door banged behind them with a low whistle of wind.

"What?" Arthur replied in an incredulous tone, slamming down his pack with a puff of icy dust.

"You don't care about us at all! You're always out and you don't bring enough back!" Peter was yelling with pink cheeks from the harsh wind, his blond hair flecked with snowflakes, "you're useless!"

Surprised by the onslaught, Arthur could only let his mouth hang open: his brother could despise him, that was no secret, but to be so enraged by his action seemed ridiculous.

"Peter!" Mel scolded harshly, pushing past them both to light the fire, "Antonio's family are having a hard time - you saw how ill Felix was."

"But...I'm hungry!" Peter protested, skirting around the table to tug at her skirt.

"Everybody is!" Arthur retorted, picking up the pack once more and unloading the vegetables he had picked up in the square with grim vigour, " don't be such a brat, Peter!"

The youngest brother balled his hands into tight fists and looked from Mel to Arthur in frustration, his lip quivering.

"I can make a broth - a good one - I collected herbs today," Mel affirmed, giving Peter a sharp look and emptying a rusty jug of water into the blackened pot hanging over the fire, "so none of this - both of you."

"But-!" Arthur began to protest at his own scolding, stepping forward in anger.

"Both of you!" she repeated with a flash of her lively, piercing eyes, "nobody ever got by through fighting with each other!"

Peter began to cry, pressing his palms into his eyes and wailing loudly. Arthur felt guilty and furious with him all at once. Peter was just a child, but he was constantly displeased with Arthur and it took the older boy by surprise how easily his words cut through him, how very cruel he could be while Arthur tried to do his best by them. But there remained an underlying guilt that he should not be messing around teaching Alfred to hunt - a boy who would have no use for such a skill except for sport! - and that he should have gone out by himself to provide for his family. Still, the guilt was a small knot in his stomach while the anger was an impressive wave which washed over him.

"He's being impossible!" came Arthur's offended, irritated retort.

"He said he'd bring something back!" was the muffled groan which came through Peter's sobs, "useless! Useless!"

Mel sighed, bending down and putting an arm around the infant and hushing him, trying to wipe the tears from his grubby face with a dishtowel.

Arthur, with heat rising in his cheeks and a sickening feeling in his gut, threw down the empty sack and left the house, letting the wind slam the door behind him, knowing how it made the floorboards shake.

* * *

Something Alfred was not short of in the Spades Palace was books.

The library was a large, formidable room on the second floor which was positively packed with the things, spines poking out from every available shelf and case and excess books piled beneath upholstered chairs or on window sills. However, it was the clutter of reading material that made the large space strangely comforting - a contrast to the sparsely populated rooms the palace usually had to offer. As a young child it was not somewhere Alfred ever had need of, save when playing hide and seek with Mattie. Now, of course, he was encouraged by the Jack to read - and always the biggest, heaviest books with the smallest text too - but this was not why he took to coming to the library at night as he had done this evening.

A year ago, the palace had recovered an old telescope from the attic and Alfred found himself fascinated by the constellations of the sky; the unfathomable shapes of the stars. Something about all that endlessness up there above him was a comfort in a way - perhaps it was due to his often feeling like a pinpoint in the kingdom which stuck out from everyone else - the millions of pinpricks up there made him feel a little insignificant in comparison, which sometimes - only sometimes - was sort of nice.

They had it put in the library in front of the great arching window, the one with the window seat. And it was here that the vast open sky of lights above him, the endless, startling space, put him in a state of rapture on a clear night. However, he had made a misjudgement in terms of the snowy weather conditions this evening when he had slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, stepping on the places where the floor was sure not to creak (and getting it wrong most of the time). But the way the wind whipped up the falling snow outside proved to be distracting enough to entertain him as he lay horizontally on the window seat, one arm propping up his head to watch the strange shapes appear and then dissolve on the glass. Alfred always found that if each place in the palace had a purpose, the window seat in the library was a place for thinking - and so he was trying his very best to; he had come up to consider the impending stay of the Card Royals and all the meetings there would be as a result - but instead he was thinking of the other things they would do - horse riding, competitive games by the fire (backgammon, chess those sorts of things), the dances, the tea parties. He liked all that but it was with a touch of nostalgia he thought of it now. It was all well and good when he was the 'baby royal', he thought this with a little contempt, but now he had to be a man - a man fit to be a king no less - and he had to prove it! So meetings were important. And that was what he would think of - not horse riding or checkers - meetings.

As Alfred tried his best to fill his head with the iconic images of 'meetings' at the palace he was distracted by some of the titles peeking out from the nearest shelf, lit up dimly by the moon's soft glow. A large book which he saw first provoked a look of fear from him: the history of trade in the upper north region of the Spades kingdom - a book Yao had sent him to fetch for a lesson and, not only did it take him half an hour to drag it down the stairs, he'd had to battle to keep his eyes open as he leant over the multitude of pages for at least four hard lessons. He still wasn't sure what the main plot of it was. There were some good ones too though, old favourites Georgia had once read to him on the lawn in summer when he was young - about orphan boys in cities and that kind of thing. It seemed much more exciting to be an orphan in the city than one stuck in a palace. Another book struck a different sort of fear in him and he felt his cheeks colour just to catch sight of its obscure title again. He'd picked the thing up out of pure curiosity one evening months ago, seeing that it was signed as a gift from the King of Diamonds. It was a complete surprise then to be greeted with what he soon realised to be some fairly graphic...um, stuff. The worst, most mortifying part was that he'd waited guiltily until everyone was downstairs to take the awful book to his room. He read the thing from cover to cover by the light of a lamp with a permanent expression of outrage, one shocked hand never leaving his mouth. He had turned a deep burgundy when the Jack asked him why he looked so exhausted the next day. All the same, that book had given him the only real education he had ever had on that sort of thing, excluding the short, tight lipped 'growing up' talk he'd had from the Jack himself. He had tried asking Mattie about it all once or twice but could never quite bring himself to say the actual word...you know... and so his brother hadn't really understood him. But how could he be a king and not have a real idea of that sort of thing. He would ask Mattie again properly. Or Arthur.

Or Maybe not Arthur, he thought with a deep flush. He tried to not think about Arthur and the stuff in the book at the same time but for some reason found it difficult to do. Maybe just because he was curious about his friend's own love life. Maybe because of the strange heat he felt whenever they were particularly close to one another. Heat that only made him consider some of the lurid things hidden in the books pages...

Alfred became aware of the flickering of a lamp to his right and jolted upright, fearing the Jack had caught him up again. It came as a surprise then to see Angelique in the doorway watching him, wearing a nightdress and holding her lamp beside her as if it were some sort of weapon she wielded against the shadows.

"There you are, Alfie," she said with something of a sigh which implied she had been looking for him.

"Angelique?" Alfred replied, standing from the window seat to face her properly, "how did you know I was in here?"

"I heard you trip in the hall," she answered bluntly, entering the room fully now and setting the lamp down on an end table.

Alfred found this action panicked him; the punishment for skulking around in the night was bound to be worse if he was found in here with Angelique of all people.

"What are you doing in the library anyway?" she made a show of ironing out the creases in her frilled, cotton nightdress with her hands and glancing around at the unfamiliar space she found herself in.

"I like to use the telescope," Alfred glanced at it and backed away from Angelique's figure which, no longer in shadows, invaded the comforting space he inhabited by the window, "only it's not so good for seeing anything tonight...so I was just thinking about stuff - important stuff."

"And there I thought perhaps you would come to see _me_!" Angelique plopped herself down on the soft cushion of the window seat, speaking in that confusing tone Alfred never knew whether to take seriously or not.

He looked at her quizzically and wondered where she could have got such an obscure idea from. Seeking someone out at night who is easily spoken to in the daytime seemed unnecessary first of all, but secondly, he was certain doing something like that was very un-gentlemanly and something Yao would click his tongue at. It was not something that had ever occurred to him - to visit Angelique after hours.

"Oh..." Alfred could find nothing else to reply with, "weird."

She shot him a glance and then sighed again, looking at the brass contraption in front of them.

"What do you use one of those for anyway?" she asked half heartedly, "what do you see with it?"

"Only like, _all_ the stars!" Alfred was enthusiastic now and sat back down beside her, both their backs to the frosted world below them, "and the moon and all the constellations they make - those are like patterns - and, well... basically everything that's out there."  
His conclusion caused Angelique to frown at the device as if she thought it might open itself up and spill out the earth's secrets.

"I once knew a lady who looked through a lens and said she saw the future," she offered in a detached tone, folding her arms.

"Oh, it's not like that - it isn't magic!" Alfred laughed, happy to be giving Angelique a lesson for the second time that day and the first time in almost a year, "it's all real."

Something Alfred had said made Angelique look annoyed for a moment and then she turned to him seriously. She seemed unsure of whether to speak at first but, never one to hold her tongue for long, she eventually gave in.

"I still can't do it," she muttered unhappily, "what the Jack wants me to do."

"Oh..." Alfred hadn't been expecting this and, due her haughty posture and disheartened expression, it seemed she was embarrassed to have said it - but he grew curious quickly, " what is it that your training for?"

"This thing...I don't even know really...some 'sense'..." she seemed bitter as she spoke, curling her lip; creasing her pretty face, " If I'm in the right state of mind, I'm meant to see something...or do something...something special."

"You can really do something like that?" Alfred leant forward in surprise and enthusiasm. Angelique had never mentioned something like this to him. Magic. Magic was interesting - scary and strange - but interesting. You only read about it in history books and fairy tales and nobody liked talking about it much - so Alfred found it something to be wary of but, all in all, to welcome.

"P-probably!" she replied quickly, frowning sharply,"...my uncle says I could see all sorts when I was younger...so I must have that 'sense' or whatever, mustn't I?"

"Sure," Alfred shrugged amiably.

Angelique seemed weirdly touchy about this stuff and he had not known her to care much for anything other than dresses and dances before. She glared at him, possibly feeling that he was making fun of her discomfort. Her fierce gaze dissolved to perplexity when she saw his genuine as ever smile directed dopily at her.

"It's important..." she began again, not looking at Alfred but at the all-seeing telescope, " ...the Jack says it is..." she sighed impatiently, "...it's important for the new Spades queen."

Alfred's body tensed at her last three words and a sharp stab of anxiety pierced through his stomach. He was silent, breath stilled in his throat though his lips were parted for its escape. His eyes stayed trained on the carpet pattern, wide with surprise because she had said those unspoken words. There were a few minutes of silence in which neither of them said anything at all, Alfred preparing frantically to make an excuse to return to his room, still too panicked to move other than to release the breath at last.

Before any excuses could be made, Angelique turned to him, sharply and with undeniable anger slashed across her face.

"What is the _matter_ with you, Alfred?!" she asked, her voice a high pitched shriek which made Alfred aware of the sleeping bodies on this floor of the palace, "don't you even want me to be your queen?"

He gawped at her, stunned at the sudden fiery outburst and terrified of what she was asking.

"I-...well-" he groped desperately for the right words to soothe her.

"Well what!" she would not let him off easily, " I never ever thought it would be like this living here! You are so oblivious to everything, Alfred!"

"I'm not sure I get it," he was aware that she was becoming more upset but could not help holding back from what she seemed to want, " I really wouldn't mind if you were my queen - don't worry about Yao-..."

"-It isn't about stupid Yao!" she seemed close to tears now and Alfred could see the situation moving to more dire levels, "it's about you! I've been here two years, Alfred and nothing!...you never pay me much attention - you're always in your own world! I thought...I thought you would ask me to marry you...that's what my uncle said..."

Alfred felt another of those sharp stabs in his stomach and felt as though this must be a nightmare come to life in front of him. Perhaps he didn't get out of bed and sneak to the library at all, perhaps he was going to wake up soon and Angelique would poke fun at him at breakfast as usual.

"You're not just being polite are you?" she seemed to take on a different tone now, one more desperate and he found this worse to bear than anger, "Alfred, boys have sometimes said they would marry me - men too - I know I'm not unsightly, yet you seem not to notice at all!...You do know I would let you if you wanted? you know you can have me?...romantically, that is."

Alfred flexed his jaw muscle without uttering any words, brow pressed together in confusion and some distress.

"I can what-...?" His facial expression could only be described as a plea for help.

Angelique uttered a short, sharp 'huh!' sort of sound of exasperation and shook her head. Without further warning she leant over to Alfred, grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a firm kiss.

* * *

AHHh here it is ! I'm sorry I'm sorry - for people asking what my update schedule is...clearly it's a mess but I really wanna get this story done and as there do seem to be at least a few people out there that care about it imma work hard to get a chapter out once every two weeks from now on.

I hope that's okay and please please let me know your feedback! :) Thank you for sticking with it guys! xo

p.s. please ignore my weird chapter numbering I clearly forgot how to count for a bit heh :o


	15. The Stranger

**The Stranger**

The snow continued to shed itself upon Kattleroot, shrouding each dejected cabin and dog eared shop awning. Encumbering the ropey wooden structures with its icy weight and assaulting any retreating figures with the stinging whip of the crisp wind. Winter's first snow always hit too hard and too soon in Kattleroot; like a slap in the face of its inhabitants. Only the very young could show joy at the falling of the snow, for in a place like this the snow just seemed to make matters more sordid: the work was disrupted, crops were frozen and any livestock still hanging onto life was huddled into the bedrooms with the children to snuffle through the night and dirty their already humble homes.

Maybe Arthur had been one of those gleeful children that liked snow once. He often felt a moment of false happiness seeing the flakes begin the swirl above his head, imagining a fireplace with cups of hot chocolate and lots of laughing voices - with no explanation of course. He had disjointed dreams of snow, of running through it away from other boys his age with terror and glee. He would wake from these dizzy and disoriented but he preferred the dreams of snow to the dreams of fire. It was not long however, this false happiness, only a split second, and then the customary melancholy would take its place for the long term.

He let the snow do what it liked for now, crouched by the river's edge in the hollow place where the land dipped out of sight of the outer lying cabins, watching the enchanted things which drifted there, the illuminated figures of spirits who did not feel the cold. He watched with a sort of humourless focus, neither he nor these odd winter creatures (which looked like faeries with the antlers of fawn and skin the colour of ash) communicating directly. A few of the females gave him furtive glances but no more as they twirled with one another. The distraction did ease his mind though, considering the anger he had felt a few minutes before. Watching them move without cares or troubles was soothing: even in the midst of suffering, here is life which transcends all that.

He tried to focus on the anger at first, feeling defeated as it faded; feeling the fool for how he reacted. Now he let it seep away – Peter was just a brat, a kid, prone to tantrums and suffering like the rest of them – he wouldn't excuse his brother exactly, but he would forgive him. Even so, he felt glad to be away from the house even if the wind flushed his cheeks and bit through his clothes: he couldn't stand being boxed in with the loathing of his sibling radiating from him in waves while Mel hunched up over some meagre meal. And then there was the guilt, stabbing like a blade in his gut – was he doing his best? Was he protecting them? Not only the food but...he thought back to that awful cut on his leg. He had to consider what he really thought he was playing at. He had to make sure they weren't tied to whatever he could be getting into.

Why did he not just leave the prince be? Was it so hard? Why was he persisting without reason? He could not even explain to himself - or he did not want to. Yet each morning that he had promised to see Alfred he awoke earlier than usual to go to him all the same, left with lighter step than usual – even a smile on occasion. Any sense of duty to the boy had long been repaid – as much as a year ago it had been repaid! If he was not careful, he would be giving to him more than he was due.

Or was he doing so already?

It had been no less than a few minutes before Arthur felt that feeling again, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up; that sensation that he was not alone. The darkness was closing in on all sides of him and his sight was heavily afflicted, but the intense feeling was unmistakable. The only light came from the tiny creatures dancing on the river but it swirled dizzyingly and was formless, seeming to hit nothing other than Arthur's own pale face. Glancing around, his eyes locked jarringly on a dark shape beside him, shrouded in the shadow of the evening and momentarily formless. He squinted at it and felt his breath catch in his throat to see it become the hunched shape of a figure, of somebody crouching close to him, a black mass on the bank which then began to take the form of a woman with long tangled hair the colour of the moon. He felt an urge to run but couldn't tear his eyes from the figure on the bank; his heart skipped a shaky pulse as he saw the glint of one eye through the mass of hair watching him. For a moment he thought she might be a spirit or even a ghost, but something about her demeanour, her lack of light and glow, made him feel she was something altogether more real; altogether more frightening.

"...W-Who are you?" Arthur's voice seemed louder than he had planned and he was half hoping not to receive a reply.

The creature's posture responded, she straightened her back, eyeing him boldly and becoming something more human.

"Nobody you should know," her voice was like that of a snake with a razor tongue. Arthur's eyes adjusted to the mysterious light and he could now see her features, sharp, symmetrical, emotionless.

"That's not an answer!" Arthur persisted but not without disconcertion, the desire to be at home with the warmth of the fire and the comforting presences of Mel and Peter now tugging at him like an anxious child tugs at its mother's dress, "...you aren't from Kattleroot are you?" his tone became accusing and some of his fear turned to suspicion, "...a-are you the one who...?"

"The one who's been following you?," she replied and he almost thought she sounded amused now, "oh no, you don't have to worry about me...but aren't you a popular boy..." she grinned disjointedly, "...Arthur."

A sensation of frustration and fear overwhelmed him and before he could realise what he was doing his hand was at her throat, their sudden close proximity as a result surprised him, her dark eyes level with his. Her skin was like ice, so cold it almost burned against his fingers.

"Have you been following me?" he demanded frantically, "I want the truth!"

He had a moment to consider his action and panic inwardly that he was clutching the neck of a defenceless and possibly innocent girl. What a stupid thing to do – to grab her like that – his temper was always getting him into trouble.

In almost the same instant however he felt the cold uncomfortable edge of the blade on his own throat. It was almost impressive, how swiftly she had turned the tables, drawing her own knife and so locking them in an odd embrace by the edge of the icy water.

His mouth was at once dry and he felt himself fight to swallow, the success of this only bringing more discomfort as the sharp blade pressed against him just that bit harder. Only now that the situation was critical did Arthur actually think - about how she had known his name, about how she had been lurking beside him - what else had she seen? When else could she have been in the shadows watching?

"I haven't been following you," on her part she was nonplussed by Arthur's grip on her or his anger. Her eyes focused steadily on his, the only thing about her posture which had altered was the raised arm, holding the knife, "but I am well aware of you, Arthur."

"...How?" Arthur found his voice came out as a hoarse murmur and his eyes flicked down to the blade momentarily, "who _has_ been following me then?"

"The royal guard of course - the _Ace_ ," her voice came out as a sharp hiss, her eyes narrowing, "those bastards," Arthur bit his lip as she dug the tip of her blade just far enough to break the skin, "my people have observed you on their books - so I came to pay you a visit before they did."

Knives aside, the way the girl spoke sent a shiver down his spine, her casually violent tone paired with her wild, black eyes and the slight growl of her voice all pointing towards the presence of threat. He saw her glance down at what must have been a pinprick of blood forming on Arthur's neck but if she felt remorse she did not show it.

"What does it have to do with you?" Arthur mustered some courage, ignoring the sting of the cut and resisting the urge to release her frozen flesh.

"I thought I could help you," she retained an intense expression and made no attempt to withdraw her weapon, "I thought...we could help each other a little bit."

He was silent, scouring her face for something, anything, which would make sense. He thought of the Ace, the stony faced man he had met in the woods. Now he came to think of it, what _was_ the Ace doing out there in the woods that time he had threatened him off the land if not following him? Hadn't he been getting more and more fearful that the man was after him somehow? On their books? That didn't sound good...in fact it sounded very bad - if it was even true that it. He didn't trust her, not at all, but maybe he did believe what she was saying made sense. ...He still wasn't prepared to bare himself to this suspicious girl however.

"And what makes you think I want help?," Arthur snapped back, anxious that she would see his consideration of her words, "and what's more would I need help from someone like you? I have no quarrel with the guard - I haven't broken any laws."

 _Yes you have_. His brain argued - he broke several little laws every single day, he had just been praying they weren't enough to get him noticed and he'd clearly started to fail that a long time ago. He attempted to keep his tone even and confident despite the worm of doubt that she had planted in his mind. In fact, the worm had already been there for a long time, all the stranger was doing was feeding it. Feeding it with the growingly plausible idea that the Ace was coming for him and something had to be done about it.

"You're spying on the palace! - are you not?" she kept her gaze on him, unblinking, "at least that's how it seems and that's all that will matter to them. And if you're spying then you're threatening the royals! And if you're threatening the royals then you're no good! So... they'll come and get you!" She was almost singing now, her voice a happy, disjointed melody, " _I_ know you're not any kind of proper threat – a pest maybe – but what are you really capable of? Not a lot I doubt... what, did you think you could talk to the Prince and get him to help your people? Did you think you could be _friends_?" she paused to laugh, a sound like glass shattering, but as it wore off her expression became deathly serious once more, "...but it doesn't matter what I think... the Ace is ruthless, he doesn't care how old you are or where you're from or how honest you are - he'll purge and purge until it's only the purest of the pure left – don't you agree? And he is paralysed by blind fear when it comes to Clubs."

She spoke but her words didn't reach Arthur fully, the part about Clubs seemed an odd afterthought, and her taunts about his relationship with Alfred stung – but it was only the things she said about the Ace that really resonated with him. This army and war were all the doing of the Ace - even Alfred admitted that. The Ace who had come to their own lowly town and given them no more than the palm of his hand. 'Quiet' the palm said – because the Ace would purge and purge until only the pure was left. The pure: Only the rich, only the privileged – the rest for fighting or working like dogs; the rest for death. For once he felt what Antonio felt like a hot prong in the core of his being.

"Who...Who are you?" his words formed on their own. She had caught his attention but he still had no clue what he was looking at.

"I am part of a group that can save your head from the Ace's stake - they are known as Strangers. They have been working for over two years now to fight against the tyranny and incompetency of the new government."

"Like the Blackshirts?" Arthur felt his arms relax now, though he didn't let go.

"No!," she spat vehemently, "we are nothing like that rabble!"

"And...and do you seek to harm Alfred?" Arthur couldn't help but ask, concerned for the young man against his own will.

"You seem to be awfully concerned with the Prince of Spades, Arthur," her tone was suddenly abrupt and angry, her eyes narrowing fiercely "Was I right then...you really _do_ think you're actually friends? You really do think 'Alfred' would care about what I could do to you right now if I wanted to?"

Arthur suddenly felt nervous, he was always so quick to forget the weight of Alfred's name and his person and it seemed to have triggered something black and furious within the woman with a knife at his throat.

"No! It's nothing - I'm just...I just agreed to tell him about life in the country," Arthur met her stare fixedly and with a straight face, "I used to do deliveries to the palace and I met him, that's all and...and it'd be a shame because he seemed like he could be a decent king - things considered."

"You're lying," she replied frostily and Arthur's heart dropped to his stomach but her flat expression left him uncertain as to what he should be feeling, "...but the Prince will not be harmed by the likes of us. He is an innocent - that's what my master says."

There was a tense silence in which they both did little but observe each other fiercely.

"Why did you come here?" Arthur was suddenly aware of himself, aware again of the sharpened blade, the power she felt she could freely exert over him here in his own town, "you said you wanted to help me – all you have done so far is wound me."

The dark eyes flicked again to that tiny river of blood and back to his.

"You're right," she did not attempt to remove the knife, "actually; I said we could help each other."

Arthur frowned at her and felt as if he could have laughed aloud, right in her face. Help the bitch! Arthur wanted to do nothing but run ten miles in the other direction at this stage! She was out of her head.

"I'm sure there's nothing I could do for you," he replied tensely and with a hint of annoyance.

"The truth is I've lost contact with the other Strangers recently," she carried on hurriedly as if he had not spoken, "They were in contact right up until I was sent out here and now everything has gone very...quiet. I just need to get to our group's base area somehow – only it's north of the capital and I have no horse or money and the woods is thick," she paused for a moment as if awaiting reply. Upon not receiving one she continued, "I need to find the other Strangers, but, having never met my master and only knowing the others by codename's - I have little hope. They are designed to be untraceable."

"-you don't even know your own leader?" Arthur could not suppress the incredulous reply, "who are these people?... why would I even want to get involved with such an unfathomable organisation?"

"It's in the name, Arthur!," she argued fiercely, "their philosophy is to be known to no one! That even includes each other at times!"

"Well, that's a rotten philosophy if you ask me!"

"They can help you!" her voice rose a few octaves, "they helped me in a time when I thought all help was lost!" she eyed him with what seemed like anger, " _you_ can take us there – and _they_ can protect you from the Ace and the guard – they'll sort all of that out and make sure you never have to go near the palace again, they aren't like the Blackshirts, they have noble support - people with connections."

"Then where are they now?" Arthur replied venomously, tired of her mood swings and of the graze of the metal blade and her icy skin pressed near him, "this powerful and well connected order has fallen silent, has it not? and besides, I never agreed to help you and I don't need your organisation to solve problems I don't yet have!"

" _Yet_!" she hissed, "you will need us, Arthur – you and I are meant to help each other! I have _seen_ it!"

She angrily whipped her knife away and began wiping it on her skirts. When she looked back up at him she seemed to have calmed and her face was nonplussed and sharp once more. Arthur noticed that she was not ugly as he had initially taken her to be - she could actually have been called quite pretty.

"Those are beautiful, aren't they?" she nodded at the river and Arthur needed half a moment to comprehend what she meant, gazing at the floating spirits which had moved further up the water – away from the disturbance on their now lonely shore.

"You-?" his words caught in his throat as he realised that he must have finally met someone else who shared his ability. When he turned back in awe she was standing over him, knife hidden away in the folds of her dress or wherever she kept it.

"I _will_ see you again, Arthur," she spoke solemnly and coldly.

Before she turned her back on him to disappear into the night she offered one last parting phrase:

"you can call me Natalia."

* * *

Alfred was void of reaction for a few seconds, engaged in a somewhat chaste lip lock with Angelique on the window seat, his body unmoving while his head rang vague alarm bells and his heart thudded in his ears. When he did remove her gently, searing with embarrassment, he saw her eyes were full of tears.

"Why don't you just try it, Alfred!" she fought against his firm hold on her shoulders, "why don't you give it a chance before you run away! ...You're not a little boy anymore!"

Mortified and guilty, Alfred could not answer her. He had never really felt like doing this stuff with Angelique, not that he hadn't thought about it before, but it worried him that he couldn't quite think of her that way. And yes things like love were meant to grow but did that make her right about how he was acting? Arthur had told him not to pin his hopes on love but is this what he meant? Since he'd received the advice he'd tried to take it even though it went against anything he'd ever dreamed as a kid. But how could it be followed? Should he try to please Angelique, even though he didn't love her? Is that what Arthur was trying to tell him?

Without waiting for a response, Angelique put her arms around him and kissed him again, forcefully. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to grimace. All he felt was the uncomfortable slash of nerves in the pit of his stomach, but suppose that was how he was meant to feel? Was that what people felt in those books he read? They never focused so much on the kissing part in those - something Alfred remembered with shame.

He was aware that he had no idea what to do and sat bolt upright with his hands resting on the window seat cover, never leaving his sides. Angelique seemed dissatisfied with this and altogether more determined than he was. She pressed herself against him and the action felt wrong to Alfred who was flustered just brushing against her cheek to greet her. He didn't want to offend her further but realised he didn't know how to go about reciprocating her enthusiasm in the slightest, nor if he wanted to. He was trying it, like she had said - he wasn't going to run away and he wasn't a little boy! But it overwhelmed him, her grip on his neck seemed too tight, her mouth opened just slightly too wide - this was the first time anyone had kissed him properly like this - perhaps he was the one doing it all wrong? He didn't hate it exactly but he felt the stirring emotions of nervousness, embarrassment and discomfort. If he really put his mind to it, he could enjoy this, he thought, maybe, and the feel of her body did...interest him...but overall he would be happy for the affair to end. It was when her palm grazed his waistband, provoking a fresh wave of mortification, that he finally had to push her away, maybe more forcefully than he had planned, his face burning.

He stood up, abruptly and awkwardly. Angelique only stared at him with her mouth agape, the light of the moon silhouetting her against the window.

"...Alfie?" her voice quivered and he feared her tears would return.

"I'm sorry! I...I can't," he hopped from foot to foot anxiously, a childish habit he couldn't break, "I really am sorry..." his eyes did not meet hers, "...I should go."

She regained her composure but barely, shaking her head in disbelief as she stood up shakily with her shoulders pushed back and her face colouring as she realised she had failed.

"I suppose I'm the one who should apologise!" She spat back at him, staring at the ground as she seized her lamp roughly, "I was clearly wrong."

"Please!" Alfred began to follow her across the room, "don't be like that! It's just-..."

"Goodnight, Alfred" she said curtly as she reached the door, "...'your highness'," she added as a sarcastic, stinging afterthought.

The light of her lamp disappeared down the long hallway with her retreating form and Alfred was left with the inconsiderate light of the moon, no longer a comfort but something ghostly which gave him the shivers. With a sheepish glance around him he too retreated, riddled with guilt and humiliation, back to his own bedroom.

* * *

 **A/N:** Here is the next chapter for y'all I hope you like how the story is going (please let me know your thoughts)!

See you again soon! :D


	16. Unfair Hands

*Slight warning for sexual assault later in this chapter.

 **Unfair Hands**

Angelique did not speak to Alfred at breakfast - nor lunch - or anytime that day. He could have put it down to the day itself - the frenzied start to the Card Council's stay - but for once he knew better; for once he knew what was on her mind.

It had mortified him at first, her frostiness, and he had attempted to pull her aside and apologise in the morning to no success - the attempt had been weak in fairness, Alfred just as nervous about facing what had happened as he was about making up for it, but at least he had tried. Now he had had to push the whole affair from his mind: The moment he had watched the Queen of Clubs breeze through the palace doors followed by no Jack and no King was enough to evaporate any worries of his standing with Angelique.

She had the look of a queen - she was how Alfred imagined a queen to be: strong and confident but with that elegance which seemed important in a queen somehow, man or woman; a compassionate spark. She wore green - as was customary for Clubs - and her dress and cloak draped along the flagstones as she entered.

Despite her composure, Alfred had not expected compassion from the Queen of Clubs as he awaited her greeting in the foyer, he had tried to smile despite the anxiety he felt at the lack of Clubs royalty present but could not resist troubling one of his thumbnails obsessively as he grinned.

"Alfred!" She cried upon reaching him, her smile spilling from her bright face, hazel eyes alight, "my, you have grown!"

She put her arms around him and he hoped she did not notice his intense sigh of relief.

"It's good to see you, Elizaveta," Alfred replied as they parted and, glancing at Yao, he saw that even he looked more relaxed - though Alfred noted that there were no hugs and kisses for the Jack of Spades on this particular occasion.

"You're practically a man!" she gushed looking back at the Prince again and putting her hands on his cheeks and examining his face with excitement, "if only they'd take you out more, you'd be a heart throb!" she laughed and Alfred flushed but smiled with her, proud to hear her compliments.

She had been whisked along with her servants shortly after, though not without clasping Mattie with equal enthusiasm, and the last of the royals had arrived not long later. Diamonds floated in last, the king grinning with a bottle of wine and looking and smelling as if he had had plenty already. His queen floated gracefully beside him with a sleepy smile, her hair was cut short - while in the past she had worn it long - she resembled her brother much more closely now. The brother in question, the Jack of Diamonds, kept a close eye on the young queen and a closer one on the drunken king.

But it all seemed unreal now, like a half remembered dream and Alfred tried to conjure exactly what it was they had all worn besides their native colour, the way they had smiled - genuinely? - it was a struggle to recall such details and the man with the eye glass was giving him instructions and the leather chair squeaked on his clothes, distracting him.

"Could you read this for me please, your highness?" the man questioned now, holding up a script of letters - or possibly they were words?

"They're a little bit small, aren't they?" Alfred scrunched up his eyes to see the writing better, wondering why they were testing his reading when obviously he could read just fine.

It was Yao who had insisted Alfred have his eyes checked, but Alfred wanted nothing less than to answer some doctor's questions as the royals were settled into the palace. There were no meetings today at all – and it would be some time before the council gathered in the parlour for the afternoon, but still Alfred felt restless.

"Just read out any letters you think you can see, your highness" the man persisted patiently and the Jack nodded sharply at Alfred, folding his arms in expectation.

"Well...If you say so," Alfred mumbled, perturbed by the request and swallowed before squinting at the script once more, "...a...g...k...um...s?"

Yao and the doctor exchanged glances and Alfred knew immediately this was not a positive sign.

"Alright," the doctor sighed, laying the script down, "now try looking through this lens for me please,"

* * *

The news Mel gave Arthur as he sat preparing a pheasant at the old table was enough to make his stomach sink like an anchor.

The guard had called at their door - had asked for him personally - Mel had assumed he was registered as unassigned in terms of military training and they were just doing their rounds. But previously Arthur had been less hassled due to the subtle limp left from his accident - technically regarded as a 'disability'. That could easily have become less important to them at this stage but it seemed so unnatural to Arthur that they should make a house call that he found it hard to concentrate on plucking feathers after hearing of it.

"There's nothing wrong, is there pet?" Mel watched him pick at the bird idly, "is it something you've done? About the hunting? Work? You aren't worried about Peter and I? We're perfectly alright!" she put a hand on his firmly to halt his obsessive, useless picking and force him to look at her, "Peter doesn't have the taste for vegetables, that's all, but we're perfectly alright."

But he could not forget the things that the strange girl had said to him only the evening before. If the council feared rebellion, they would have no issue smoking out a suspected spy using his family as bait, right?

"What exactly did they ask when they came?" Arthur asked with fresh urgency, "what did you say to them? How much do they know about us?"

Mel shrugged casually, "only whether you were in residence here," she rose from the table to dispose of the discarded feathers, "and I told them that you had moved on recently, and that I didn't know your exact whereabouts or expect you back for quite some time."

Arthur was surprised by her answer and looked at her with some awe.

"Surely they didn't believe you?" he muttered incredulously, watching her back as she bound some of the feathers to shut away in her apothecary drawer.

"It isn't so strange, boy," she glanced at him over her shoulder, "after all, you aren't a child anymore - your life is yours now...really you could do to remember that - Peter and I are alright - I'm not so old as they say! - you aren't bound to Kattleroot, there's only so much here for you now, don't think that hasn't occurred to me. "

Her words hung between them. Arthur, in all honesty, felt he was entirely bound to Kattleroot. He was bound to Mel and to Peter and his home- Antonio and Belle too. If he only thought of himself he would not be half as worried about the visit from the guard. He recalled Natalia's offer, to take him to her people - to clean his slate. He had declined for lack of trust, but had her words not aligned with the truth? The guard had come for him, just as he had imagined yet never expected they would. Shouldn't he listen to her now? Problems he did 'not yet have' yesterday had quickly reared their ugly heads today – and Natalia was irritatingly pre-emptive about it all.

"And one thing you must never forget, Arthur," Mel added as she shut her apothecary drawer, turning to him with a somewhat hard smile, "they don't call me a witch for nothing. I can take care of myself - if not you and Peter too."

* * *

He could not shake these troubled thoughts as he did his shift at the Warehouse that afternoon, the distraction of the exercise of offloading shipments welcome on that particular day.

His anxiety levels rose ever further when he reached into his work cubby and found a folded white note right at the back. Confused he opened it immediately and felt a cold shiver run down his spine at the elegantly sloping blue script written on the white parchment. It read: _They will come for your family while your back is turned._

The hairs on the back of neck stood up and he wondered how much of his life Natalia had slithered into. He whipped around to see if she was there watching him at that very moment but met only the vacant gaze of the horse in the stable beside him. He scrunched the note up and shoved it in his pocket, trying not to panic.

 _Don't fall for her tricks, Arthur. Don't do what she wants._

But as the day wore on he only felt more and more certain that he was going to do exactly what she wanted.

Against all odds Antonio was also at work, but said little as they shifted each crate together.  
It was when the work was done and they wiped their damp brows that his friend began to retain some of his spirit. The Blackshirts were meeting at the Warehouse that afternoon and Antonio, though he did not directly join the crowd formed around the three men who seemed to be the ringleaders, sat up on the newly unpacked crates to listen, beckoning Arthur to join him. Wary of the excitable crowd but intrigued nonetheless, Arthur put down the dirty cloth he was holding and cautiously climbed the pile to join his friend. The view was good from here and Arthur was shocked by the sheer volume of people gathered and the consistent charcoal of their shirts. He scanned the room to see whether Tim was present and caught sight of him at last, further off than even Arthur and Antonio, smoking from his pipe with folded arms and a hard expression.

"Wow," Arthur couldn't suppress the awe he felt, an awe of both admiration and anxiety.

"Yeah," Antonio agreed, "I've never seen this many all together - makes you hopeful, you know? They could really change something."

Arthur didn't reply, only continued to survey it all in wonder. Antonio had found his words by this point and spoke enough for them both.

"You see that guy there? The younger one?" Antonio gestured to one of the men on the makeshift platform who sat a little apart from the others looking somewhat annoyed, "That's Lovino Vargas - he's actually the brother of the Jack of Hearts – yeah, pretty unbelievable, huh? But he's a real loyal revolutionary; he's been behind a lot of uprisings lately. If he's here, then that means it's serious."

"Why would a guy like that care about the people here though?" Arthur questioned.

"Ask him and he'll say he just hates the council system, no more, but I hear he has a true allegiance to the lower class – he was a bastard kid and grew up separated from his brother in a backwater village just like ours," Antonio was well researched on this man and clearly approved of him," of course, when he was re-united with his brother he was gifted a boatload of cash, but he's still a total loudmouth – he's staying at the Goose and I think the whole town must have heard about the 'stupid fucking bed bugs' by now."

Antonio grinned at Arthur in amusement and the blond was glad to see it for the first time that day – if taken a little off guard by his devoted enthusiasm.

They were planning an uprising in the capital – for the Prince's tour. Arthur felt a lump form in his throat as soon as this much was apparent. What the rising would constitute he wasn't entirely sure, but where it concerned Alfred he could not suppress a pang of panic from swelling in his chest. His people deserved better than what they got, this was true, and blame the court he could – but to blame Alfred, to choose him to attack, that felt wrong on all counts. Part of him felt like getting up there and then and saying: 'don't do it! I know the Prince, I like the Prince! He's knows about our plight and he's powerless until he has a true say in court!' – but of course that wouldn't do. They may not even believe him and he'd be deemed some sort of rebel enemy.

Antonio was a great deal more enthusiastic about the idea than Arthur.

"Don't you think Belle would have loved getting involved with all this, Art?" Antonio commented as they walked home together, trudging through the snow, "she'd have been besotted with Vargas I bet."

"It's lucky for you then that Tim's keeping her out of it," Arthur replied dryly without a second thought, more lost in his own restless troubles.

It was only when Antonio's pace slowed and he saw the odd way he looked at him that Arthur realised he may have spoken out of turn. He usually withheld from making comments about Antonio and Belle but he had assumed there was still something between them – or maybe that assumption was the problem.

"Arthur..." Antonio formed the word slowly, frowning at him with that pained expression he had had the other day in the square, "Arthur, that's ridiculous, don't you...? Ah... it's nothing," he mustered a smile, "I'm not worried about Belle."

Both of them were quiet for the remainder of the journey home.

* * *

Alfred was happier to be part of the festivities come the evening time when the royals gathered together in the grand parlour with the comfort of the warming fire and the consistent bubble of conversation around them. A pair of spectacles was to be delivered to the palace in the near future, but for now this only felt like a small defeat; Alfred had been given several glasses of wine over the course of the evening and though he didn't favour its taste, he grew to like the sleepy, weightless feeling it induced.

By the large window, the Ace and Lord Ardnan sat with a deck of cards between them. As Alfred had passed them Ardnan had tossed him a grin.

"We're old rivals, he and I - we were but young tricksters together once," he announced amicably, tossing a few of the cards to the Ace.

The Ace nodded gravely, "and he can never deal a fair hand."

"And can you say yours is fairer?" Ardnan looked amused.

"Nobody will deal a fair hand if it is not in their interest to do so," both men flinched to see the Queen of Clubs stop and reply as she passed them, "is that not the heart of a card trick?"

The men cautiously agreed, unable to quite retain her eye and the queen left them with a sly wink at Alfred.

Presently she was absorbed in deep conversation with the Queen of Hearts, Kiku, a quiet, reserved but good natured man who happened to share quite a few of her interests and who, on most occasions such as this, she was able to coax out of his shell on a one on one basis.

Cards was not the only game afoot that evening, the young Queen Erika of Diamonds called Alfred now to join a game involving many wooden tiles on a circular board already being started by the Jack of Hearts and his rather more sheepish King. She pressed her hands together in excitement as he sat down, having removed her silk gloves and fur shawl – contented and flushed enough by the warmth of the crackling fire. The Jack of hearts was probably Alfred's favourite Jack - set apart from the others simply by his cheerful, open personality. Feliciano was a slight, auburn haired man who was always smiling and always at the side of his rather more stoic king Ludwig. Currently he was having the rules of the game explained to him for the third time and flapping his hands eagerly at Ludwig if the king's own attention ever appeared to stray from Erika's careful instruction. Gilbert, interrupted the game to hand Ludwig (who was in fact his brother by blood) a pint filled to the brim with ale and exchange excitable greetings with Feliciano, not forgetting to ruffle both Alfred and Erika on the head with a grin; The Joker was in his element when entertaining a full house. Well... it was almost full.

As the hours wore on and the drinks were drained and refilled many of the exchanges faded into gossip and Alfred found himself listening in guiltily to much of it - though a lot of it was uninteresting. It was easy to relax into such an atmosphere on an evening like this, to feel the security of the people around him who seemed so friendly and warm as individuals and yet as soon as they were within their own borders they were strange competitors. Alfred was aware of still not quite being on an equal with some of the older royals – still perceived as a child in many ways. He decided to rectify this come the formal meetings and discussion, he was no child and could handle himself and his kingdom. But they would all see that soon anyway.

It was when the King of Diamonds and his Jack were discussing the situation with Clubs with the King of Hearts that Alfred could not help eavesdropping on their conversation.

"...-But surely it wasn't enough for King Ivan to excuse Deliberation," Basch, the Jack of Diamonds commented with feeling, "there is no war at the time being – and surely he does not run and sulk at the mere prospect of conflict!"

"Ah, but, my friend, Ivan is a very personal man – he is insulted by what is happening here more than anything else," The King of Diamonds responded, stretched out on a couch with his glass of wine precariously balanced on the arm.

"The King has not yet dropped suspicions that it was Spades that kidnapped the Princess of Clubs – though this is a foolish accusation," Ludwig added, "and let's not forget the territorial losses they made to Spades not five years ago," he went on solemnly, "though I still doubt anything serious will come of this."

"It's a shame for the kid, that's all" Basch commented and Alfred tried his best to look distracted with his own wine glass, "thrown into something like this."

There were some murmurs of agreement at this comment and King Francis removed himself from his couch, stretching and scratching at that scruffy blond beard of his.

"Bathroom break, " he announced good naturedly, knocking back his wine, "I hope to see the two of you as pissed as me when I return - though Ludwig's getting there already I see."

With a fruity laugh he left them.

* * *

Arthur wavered when he returned home that evening. He looked at his door and thought of going inside but his stomach was still in a knot. He had half hoped she would be here waiting for him. She wasn't, but still he wavered.

Tentatively he made his way back down to the river, roundabout the spot he had been in last night when he had seen her. After loitering awkwardly for a few minutes he began to feel a fool, it was dark now, and he was hungry. She wasn't just going to appear here again like some kind of ghost haunting his house - he was being an idiot.

Upon turning in defeat he was greeted by none other than the spectre herself standing directly behind him, with those piercing eyes trained on him.

"Shit! - " he jumped and leapt away from her, heart racing, "how the hell do you do that?!"

Despite his surprise Arthur felt something peculiarly like relief, though really this was the last emotion he should probably have been feeling upon running into the frightening girl again – especially not when she was lurking by his home for the second time. Though unexpected, her appearance was much less terrifying than their first meeting; she still looked wild and unruly but her hair looked as though it might have been brushed since the previous evening. She wore a tattered bow in it which likened her to one of the china dolls Mel had been forced to sell last winter.

"Have you made your decision, Arthur?" she hissed immediately as he approached her, standing uncomfortably close to him - she seemed not to notice his outrage at her ability to sneak up on him.

He considered her for a moment, and crossed his arms as he remembered her swiftness with a blade. He shouldn't have been surprised that she gave him no formal greeting but he could not help marvelling at her lack of social skills.

"And a good evening to you too," he muttered dryly, throwing a wary glance at the illuminated front window of his cabin. Best to keep this quick.

"Oh...yes," she nodded briskly and then continued to stare at him, "...well?"

"Well..." Arthur considered playing it cool but, he had to be honest with himself, he was scared, "...When?

"As soon as possible," she seemed eager now, gazing at him with wide, black eyes and taking a few crunching steps toward him through the ice, "we could go tomorrow."

"No," Arthur replied firmly, looking again to the glowing window, "no, I need to tie things up here before any of that – I need at least four days."

Arthur denied admitting to himself that this was also just enough time to visit the Prince of Spades once more before going on this journey. It might not even be the longest journey in the world but...he had been thinking and thinking and it seemed like time to start to let Alfred go. To take the opportunity to distance himself so that whatever protection these 'Strangers' gave him actually had some kind of effect at all.

It wasn't just Alfred obviously – he couldn't just up and leave life here for god knows how long. He had a job, a family. He had to make sure they were prepared for what could be as long as a few weeks without him (he had no idea what they would encounter on the way to this place). And then they would all be safe and it would be worth it. He had thought it through all day. It would all be worth it in the end.

"Then I will see you here in four days," she replied, her expression unchanging, "Noon."

* * *

Matthew Jones once again found himself away from the general excitement at the Palace, finishing a job for the Jack in the large ground floor study. He didn't mind, of course. Parties were always a bit overwhelming anyway. He was happy to watch the antics of the other royals, just as happy as he was to listen to their stories, but he also didn't mind leaving it up to them for a while. After all: how much was he really needed in there? He was more useful out here, planning his brother's tour.

Really, he was glad to plan the tour because he was relieved they had listened to his encouragement that it would take place at all. It felt like years he had been urging the Jack to let his brother see and know a little more of the place he would rule and it seemed that only recently were his words being heard. But how often was Matthew ignored, huh? He was used to that too, he supposed.

He sighed wearily as he shuffled the last of the papers he was reading over for the final time together and pushed them to the side of the large, polished writing desk. Straightening his glasses, he prepared to rejoin the party in the parlour, hoping he'd find something interesting to say to somebody so not to feel like total dead weight the entire evening. He supposed he would end up making small talk with Angelique – though she never seemed to enjoy his conversation at all. He wondered whether Alfred was paying her any attention this evening and thought that he probably was not. He sometimes felt a little sorry for the girl: she was not particularly kind or particularly good humoured but she tried very hard with his brother.

Yep, Alfred seemed destined to break hearts. This was an area where Matthew knew that the two of them were cut from very different cloth – Mattie who was handsome in a feminine, intellectual sort of way and had no charm other than that of the awkward kind. But he wouldn't feel sorry for himself about that.

Before leaving the quiet study, Matthew recalled a book he had been meaning to borrow from the room and began scanning the bookcase by the door for it, having to fetch the step ladder when he realised it must be on the top shelf.

"Having trouble there, mon cher," an all too familiar voice in the doorway startled Matthew and he lost his balance on the ladder momentarily, teetering on the edge for a moment.

"K-king Francis," Matthew stuttered as he regained some composure on the ladder, trying to hide his disappointment upon seeing the older man.

"How did I know I'd find you working away in here," he chuckled, leaning against the bookcase Mattie was currently trying to search, though in truth he was completely thrown off by the King of Diamonds' presence and such a search was now rendered hopeless.

"You were looking for me?" Matthew replied nervously, though it was innocence poorly feigned for he knew the King would seek him out at some point during his stay, he just hadn't been sure when. That was the worst part: he was unpredictable that way.

Matthew stayed on the ladder, pretending to file through books idly though his heart rate had risen considerably now that the king was so close to him.

"What is it that you're looking for, mon cher?" Francis asked him with a smile, clearly enjoying how flustered the young man had become.

Matthew spoke the title tentatively, not expecting it to be something the King of Diamonds was familiar with.

"Ah," the King plucked a tome from the shelf beside him, "is this not the one?"

Matthew couldn't believe his miscalculation and looked from the book to Francis' smirk with an open mouth.

"Oh, I didn't even know that was there..." he made no attempt to descend the ladder to retrieve the object of his search, an old, dusty looking book with a brick red cover.

"Ah, you can be such a scatterbrain, Matthew," the older man replied with affection, holding out a hand to help Matthew down the ladder.

Matthew took it gingerly, the king's rings cold to touch. He hated to openly show his distaste at touching any king but with Francis, Matthew could not resist the urge to recoil from the contact if only slightly.

"Don't be so coy, Matthew!" the king noticed his flinch and protested as Matthew reached the bottom of the steps, "you wound me, boy! Why do you shy away when you know how much I dote on you?"

Matthew was silent for a few moments and considered his situation – alone with King Francis in the study. He could try to flatter him and by some miracle wriggle out of the unwelcome intimacy they found themselves in that way – or he could just hope that Francis was in a mood to listen to Matthew's word and let him go in peace.

"I meant no offence, your highness," Matthew murmured anxiously, "I don't exactly feel myself today and I...I'd prefer to return to the parlour I think."

His argument was so weak and so poorly formed that he felt embarrassed just to have let the words leave his mouth.

"Ah, why must you always play hard to get?" Francis persisted, his hand on Matthew's wrist, "why won't you just give in and be my lover?"

Matthew stared at the floor, his face burning, hating the brazen way in which the king was prepared to proposition him.

"I'm sorry," Matthew uttered the words quietly, "I'm sure I'll never understand your jokes, King Francis...but I'm not a boy any more – I...I know all your games."

The king tilted his head at Matthew, quirking an eyebrow at him questioningly. He didn't lose that hint of amusement but he gained a harsher, crueller look in his eye.

"You should know by now that how I feel about you, mon cher, is no game," Francis cupped Matthews chin and once again he felt the cold graze of those many rings, "though I will admit that you've grown into quite a man now."

Matthew turned his head sharply away, provoked to do so by the salacious way that the King looked at him and the roughness with which he touched him.

"Please..." he begged weakly as Francis snaked an arm around his waist, "I'd really like to go now."

"Ah, but I don't think I can let you go quite yet," the king dropped any pretence of being agreeable and kept a tighter hold on Matthew's wrist as he leant in to press his lips against the eldest prince's neck.

Knowing he was powerless to the wish of the King of Diamonds, Matthew could only do his best to shy away from him now and endure what was enough to sate the lecherous desire of the other man. Even so, he continued to protest weakly and in vain.

Every further advance provoked a feeling of shame in Matthew who scolded himself for the lack of strength to push the king away and be done with it. And his punishment was to endure his hot breath on his neck and the groping hands beneath his shirt, the vice grip which held his arm above his head against the bookshelf and the outraged voice in his own head.

Why could he not tell him where to go? He was not so weak. He could kick him in the balls - that would do the trick. But he played the fool as usual, letting the king run his hands all over him. That was Matthew – there might as well have been a sign on his back which said 'walk all over me – do whatever you like'. It made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Please," Mattie uttered one last desperate time, attempting to pull away from the stronger man.

The door to the study was swung open and the figure standing in the doorway gave both Matthew and his molester a shock enough to part them at last, though the sickened feeling in Matthew's stomach did not subside, only increasing with his humiliation.

* * *

I am sorry I did that to you Matthew my sweet summer child :(

Anyway, this chapter was pretty long (I combined 2 shorter ones) and it's to make up for a possible slight delay in the next one because I'm really trying to work out when and what order everything in the rest of plot is going to happen and when ends will be tied etc. etc. at the moment. Also, I'm sorry the story has had so much set up and Alfred and Arthur have actually been separate for the majority so far but I promise promise I will make up for it !

Let me know how you're finding the story and I'll be back soon!


	17. Goodbyes

**Goodbyes  
**

Getting away from work wasn't anywhere near as painful as Arthur had expected it to be. He'd told Tim that he'd been offered to fill in last minute for a farmer's apprentice in Rainyoak and, too busy to ask many questions, his boss had given him a shrug and a nod, letting him know that a replacement could easily be found while he was gone in that flippant tone Tim always used with his workers.

"I understand," Arthur replied and, though he knew Tim spoke more harshly than he really felt, he also knew that what he said was true and something he had already expected. He couldn't ask any more of his boss when he knew he would have to 'borrow' Magnus again in order to make the journey.

"Just one thing, Arthur," Tim turned back to him and Arthur was at first surprised that he had used his name ( Tim usually stuck to the traditional 'Turnip-boy') and then nervous for a moment that there had been a hole somewhere in his story, "let Belle know before you go, will you?"

Arthur nodded.

In fact he bumped into Belle not long later on her way home from the post office. When Arthur greeted her she seemed startled and clutched her letter to her chest protectively. She laughed in relief upon realising it was him but quickly tucked the envelope into her skirt pocket. He gave her the same story he had given Tim and she beamed with happiness to hear it.

"Oh, that's good, Arthur!" she touched him on the arm, "an apprenticeship at a farm will be really good for you - I hope something comes of it."

"Thanks, Belle," he returned her smile, for the first time wishing that his tale were the truth, the unnerving task of travelling with a strange, fierce woman a much less agreeable prospect, "it's just temporary though, I'll be back here when it's done, I'm sure."

"I hope not!" Belle exclaimed, "of course I want you back with us, but maybe there's an opportunity for better there - I can imagine you as a farmer - a big country house where Mel and Peter could spend time in the garden - oh, but I know I get carried away."

Her smile faded in a way it would not have done a year or so before.

"At least someone is optimistic," Arthur attempted to cheer her up, wishing he could have the hope and imagination that she did.

They parted with a swift hug, Belle keeping one hand either on her swelled stomach or the precious note in her pocket as they did so.

Mel, who he was sure would be the most difficult to convince, refused to hear his temporary apprentice story altogether.

"Is this to do with the guard coming round the other day?" she had interrupted almost immediately.

Arthur had protested at first, attempting to reassure her that there was no real trouble, it was only a short time he'd be away, nothing she had to worry about.

"Whatever it is, Arthur," she spoke calmly, "I know it must be necessary if you're acting on it. I trust your judgement."

That evening Arthur had gone out of his way to please his brother, who was in better spirits anyway due to the pheasant stew Mel had made, but still, he wanted to give him some kind of good image to remember him by.

On the fourth day Arthur was finally able to ride up to the palace, with more nerves than ever before, to see Alfred for what he thoroughly believed could be the last time.

 _And, by the gods, don't let this be the time I'm caught_ , he thought to himself as he skirted swiftly through the forest on his borrowed horse, watching the spaces between the trees like a hawk.

Alfred was already waiting for him when he arrived, looking equally anxious. He was dressed much more formally than Arthur was accustomed to seeing and he wore a pair of glasses which he couldn't seem to stop adjusting. Despite his fidgeting, he looked older than usual, tall, well dressed and now, with the addition of the spectacles, oddly scholarly. At that moment Arthur saw him as somebody he could perceive looking up to as a leader, rather than just a kid. But no, it was more than that, he looked more refined, like a man.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come," Alfred announced breathlessly as Arthur vaulted off of his horse, holding the reign rather than bothering to tie it, "I can't stay too long."

"Neither can I," Arthur replied dejectedly and the two weren't sure how to proceed for a few seconds, as if both wondering whether it was more sensible to part right there and then.

"It was a nightmare getting away," Alfred admitted, "I was only able to slip out because everyone is so distracted with each other at the moment and the Jack was too absorbed in arranging this afternoon's meeting to worry about where I was."

And the Ace? Arthur wanted to add but decided against it.

"Oh yes, the Winter..." Arthur frowned at not being able to remember it's name, "...the winter wotsit," he pulled a guilty expression and Alfred laughed, "how's that going?"

"Winter Deliberation," Alfred corrected, smiling, "you wouldn't believe it - the other morning we were all in the conservatory and the King of Diamonds walked in covered in bruises, like properly beaten up! And it must have been another royal or something but I don't know who'd have the guts for that...well, maybe Ludwig after he's been drinking..." Alfred shook his head in wonderment and then seemed to recall Arthur's presence, "...but that's not important - how's everything?"

Arthur briefly outlined the situation at home, describing the Blackshirt meeting but guiltily, painfully leaving out the details of their next move. He almost told him about the planned rising in the capital , just for the bright, naive spark Alfred had in his eye, Arthur would have told him - but he could not deny his people the basic right of being noticed. Mercifully the rebels planned no violence against the prince and so Arthur could hold it in. He couldn't risk letting down the struggling people at home.

"There was this other thing too..." Alfred started up abruptly as there was a break in their exchanges, Arthur may have been inclined to stop him - fearing the time that had already passed - but the flush in Alfred's cheeks fuelled a curiosity in him.

"Yeah?" Arthur replied, swapping Magnus' rope to the other hand and trying to seem disinterested.

"Angelique kissed me - In the library," the second statement was said as if an important afterthought.

Arthur, despite his original resolution to remain disinterested, felt his eyebrows raise. There was a feeling which began as surprise and then turned to something more bitter in his throat - like acid.

Alfred just waited for judgement, watching Arthur's expression change and looking as if he could be holding his breath. Magnus chewed on a twig noisily.

"Well, good for you," Arthur's remark came out a little more coldly than he had intended - or perhaps it was exactly how he intended it.

"Arthur? Don't get like that," Alfred wrinkled his nose in dismay, "your so bad at talking about this stuff!"

"Wait though...how? What sort?" Arthur thought to ask, a little harshly, remembering what Alfred had said about the Diamonds greeting she liked, or had it been Hearts? It was a lot like Alfred to take that too seriously.

"How...did she kiss me?" Alfred frowned at Arthur as if he was a little dense but his blush revealed his own insecurity on the subject, "um, with her mouth?"

Arthur shot him a glance as sharp as the crisp air between them.

"Well, yeah, dummy," he was in danger of flaring up himself, "what I meant was - was it a kiss like you'd give your aunt or like a...a proper kiss."

"Ew, you kiss your aunt, Arthur?" Alfred was not obviously teasing nor obviously serious. Arthur thought he could see the corners of his mouth trying to crack a smile despite his sheepish state.

"No! I don't even have any aunts, so..." Arthur took the bait, letting the joke fluster him - already kind of flustered, actually.

"Anyway, it was like a...a proper kiss. It was late and she found me in the library - at the telescope - and she was saying all this stuff about being queen and I was kind of freaking out and then she kissed me, which was crazy, but when I pushed her away she-"

"You pushed her away?" Arthur asked with too much interest, a surprised jolt in his gut. Perhaps it was just a change in the wind that had made him feel that sudden change in temperature.

"Of course I did!" Alfred seemed incredulous, "You know I don't think of her like that, Artie, and I just found it weird the way she was...you know, pressing herself all over me and stuff..." he pulled a face, "I mean she was _all_ over me, she was even going to..."

"To what?" Arthur demanded sharply, feeling as though his eyebrows could not conceivably be any further up on his head.

"...Nothing," Alfred decided, face flooded with embarrassment.

There was a dragging silence.

"Well, you always told me she found you pretty annoying," Arthur finally uttered dryly after staring Alfred down for a while, his chest tight with a weird protective instinct, "so you've done pretty well to turn that around."

"Hey, I never used the word annoying!" Alfred replied in his own defence, "but she wasn't exactly being nice about it, Artie, she seemed really mad before she kissed me - even madder afterwards."

"Girls don't tend to take being pushed away so well," Arthur contributed, having, believe it or not, done it himself not that long ago to a seriously drunken girl at the Goose, "why was she angry before though?"

"Something about me not noticing her and that I could have her but I'm...oblivious, I think she said," he scrunched up his face as if to share with Arthur the ridiculousness of such a point of view.

"Ah," Arthur pursed his lips, "alright, I can kinda see what happened there a bit more now - starting to get a better picture."

"I felt really lousy..." Alfred looked worried behind his new glasses, "I guess you think it's dumb that I didn't want to kiss her that much - I mean, I've been thinking that Yao probably plans for a marriage as well as a coronation -and it's kind of a spades thing too, I mean, my parents were married and people liked that - and I'd like to do that stuff with who I marry and if that's Angelique then...well then it makes sense, is all...and it's not just that, obviously, but because it's healthy to, you know...want that stuff - I know it is because even Yao said it and I've read stuff and...and because I do want that stuff... sometimes."

He averted his gaze from Arthur as he uttered this last confession and willed the hot flush in his cheeks to disappear.

But not with Angelique? Arthur's mind questioned. He himself felt a little out of depth exploring Alfred's deepest desires and found himself struggling as the boy at last returned his embarrassed gaze. Something about it all made Arthur's stomach twist. Hadn't he just been thinking that Alfred looked a lot more like a man now? But he realised now that he necessarily didn't want him to be. When he was just a boy he was...well, in short he was Arthur's. But now, he was Angelique's or any other girl who fancied him. It couldn't be jealousy could it? He shoved the thought from his mind; positively hurled it.

Alfred was still blushing as if his life depended on it but seemed to gain confidence now. He looked as if these were things which he had wanted to say for a long time and was relieved to voice. Arthur could picture him, agonising over these things in the middle of the night. He did feel bad for him. Arthur had always had a pool of adolescent male wisdom surrounding him growing up - perhaps if Alfred had heard a few of Karlos' tales he wouldn't fret so much. Maybe it wasn't that Alfred was growing up that made Arthur feel so uncomfortable. Maybe it was the possibility that he was growing away.

Arthur gained sudden perspective on the time they had passed together - not today, but over the course of their lives; one moment Arthur was explaining how to climb a tree without falling out and now look at them ,discussing, what Alfred almost endearingly (only almost, Arthur insisted inwardly) referred to as 'stuff'.

"So, you're saying you didn't even want to do it at all? Just because you don't...love her?" Arthur found there was something oddly chivalrous in the sentiment...but he found it hard to believe that Alfred had such a high resistance to the charms of a woman. On that occasion not so long ago Arthur had let that drunk girl kiss him until she had shown worrying signs of vomiting down his shirt, at which point, and only this point, he had pried her from him and handed her, offended, back to her less afflicted friend, pointing them both in the direction of lavatory. Arthur had let that girl kiss him having firmly accepted for a fair amount of time that he wasn't really attracted to girls much at all.

"Well...I have kind of considered it..." Alfred lost eye contact with Arthur and looked concerned as if admitting a dirty secret and expecting punishment, "I thought, yeah... maybe it would have been nice to have someone...um...well, you know," Alfred groped for the words, searching the older boy's face with a pained, helpless expression,"...to, um, do it for you, you know...," his cheeks flushed a deep scarlet and Arthur let out a choke of surprise, trying to mask it as a throat clearing cough, "...um, but then I thought about how it was when I was kissing her - when she was kissing me - I just felt awkward and weird and...uncomfortable," he caught Arthur's gaze for a second and saw that the other was now pulling an equally concerned (and mortified) face , "it was nothing like the books said - not really. And it wasn't like I imagined - she wasn't who I imagined it being with, I think."

"Well," Arthur's voice wavered at too high a pitch as he attempted to hold Alfred's anxious eye, still thrown off by his friend's honesty , "...I guess I can understand that."

Despite his obvious discomfort, Arthur's weak answer did seem to soothe Alfred somewhat and he noted how his shoulders sank in his velvet jacket and the way he sighed, looking idly at Magnus who was still chewing on a protruding twig.

"And I kept thinking about that thing you said," Alfred went on eagerly, adding, when Arthur cocked his head in perplexity, "about love - about not pinning your hopes on love."

Arthur struggled with the phrase - did he say that? He wondered. _Kinda sounds like me_ , he thought. _Something sombre and lonely like that sounds a lot like something I'd spit up. That would stick with you I guess._

"Perhaps don't take that too seriously," Arthur curled his lip at the amount of self pity he must have possessed at the time to have offered such advice, "but I guess sometimes love and sex are sort of different things."

Alfred rearranged his glasses, frowning. Magnus stopped chewing and sniffed at Arthur's collar as if also interested in the statement.

"So, which is more important ?" He asked seriously.

Magnus' breath was too warm and tickly in the cold air. Arthur batted him away softly.

"Well..." Arthur turned a few shades darker, "I regret that I'm no real expert in either."

Alfred promptly joined Arthur in terms of complexion and gave him a sheepish look, "me neither, I guess."

There was strange moment in which they merely considered each other and said nothing at all. Arthur kicked himself for thinking either of them very grown up at all but in an awkward, embarrassed way felt somehow a lot closer to him.

"If it's any consolation, I don't think it's bad that you pushed her away," Arthur muttered at long last, "in fact it's...sort of big of you I guess."

Alfred's eyebrows rose and Arthur thought he looked dangerously close to cracking a pleased smile. The older boy promptly gave him a glare - didn't want him too big headed - and Alfred pursed his lips together and nodded instead. Arthur nodded back and then the younger boy did smile and Arthur didn't really mind, a sudden swell of affection filling him as he realised it was time to say what he had come to say.

"But...listen, Alfred," Arthur said as he began to feel the weight of the time which had already passed, "I wanted to tell you that I'm going to have to go away for a bit...and I'm not sure how much I'll be able to visit you like this again with things the way they are. This is, sort of...goodbye."

Alfred's smile faded and his brow knotted together as he considered Arthur's words.

"What...?" Alfred spoke at last, "I...look, I know things aren't great right now Arthur but...but that doesn't mean we have to just stop seeing each other...I mean, I was thinking and isn't it so ridiculous? That there should even be a problem with me seeing you? I'll be king soon - can I not do what I like?"

His frustration mounted and Arthur looked at the ground and sighed, he had half expected Alfred to respond this way.

"Unfortunately, I think that's just it," he was withdrawn as he spoke, still not meeting the other's eye, " you will be king soon - so you can't do what you like. We were never even meant to meet each other, Alfred...that's...that's just the way the world is."

" But it isn't how I want the world to be, it isn't how it should be - I thought you felt the same way, Arthur," Alfred took a step towards him, pleading in his eyes.

"But it isn't just about me anymore, Alfred ," Arthur went on, "I think the guard know who I am; I'm worried about my family."

"I...I don't want to cause you any trouble, I would never want that," Alfred now seemed torn, "I just wish you'd told me you felt this strongly earlier I could have done something, I'm sure of it."

"What could you have done? None of them in there will care about your relationship with a peasant," Arthur said this bitterly, " anyway, I'm doing something about it myself - I'm sorting out this mess."

"How?" Alfred was curious now, head cocked slightly to one side.

"Do not utter a word to Yao or the Ace or Angelique or anyone, alright?" Arthur waited for Alfred's eager nod in response.

"Alright."

"I met someone - someone who told me they know of people who can clear my slate with the royal guard to get them off my case," Arthur was nervous to impart this information to the prince, however much he trusted him, "as far as I know I'll need to travel quite far along the west forest path to reach them, it's above the capital - and that is ALL I can say about it."

Alfred looked as if he had a thousand questions to ask him but he somehow kept his mouth shut. His angered expression slowly faded and his shoulders sank in defeat.

"...I'll be honest, I think they might be suspicious of me too," he hung his head with a dejected expression, "but isn't it stupid, Artie? That there should be such a problem with just having a friend? Doesn't that seem stupid?"

Arthur was thoughtful for a moment.

"Really stupid," he agreed at last.

"You're wrong about this being the way the world is though," Alfred spoke with a strong emotive note in his voice, "it isn't how the world always has to be! You go and clear your name and leave the rest to me - soon, when the fuss has all died down I'll see you whenever I like - they can't deny me that. I may have been a royal ornament as a prince but I'll be damned if I have no say after the coronation. We've come too far now to back down - protect your family now but you sure haven't seen the back of me. You'll be at tea in the palace before you know it."

"You really believe that?" Arthur asked with a somewhat sad smile and, what's more, he found himself desperately wanting to believe it too.

"Of course!" he replied enthusiastically though his voice was thick and emotional, "you know you can reach me by letter too - just use a name only we will know and send it to the address I told you and - the western path you said? I'm going to record every bend and village it passes through," Arthur could not help but smile at how devoted Alfred sounded - he had never known how much he actually cared about him, " I refuse to just...let you go, Arthur, you're too...you're my best friend."

Arthur looked at Alfred feeling a sadness tugging at him, threatening his resolve. Here was the boy who had taught him to make a daisy chain, put him to sleep with his rambling anecdotes and looked at him in such a baffling, admiring way so often that Arthur had sometimes even felt as if it was deserved. And now he was to say goodbye, a feat which seemed so small before the boy in question was standing before him, welling up behind his new glasses.

"...Okay," Arthur murmured, feeling as if right now he would allow him anything; he could not deny him anything.

Alfred stepped forward and wordlessly the two hugged one another, an action Arthur found as strange as he had the first time the prince had done it and yet it came as a complete comfort. He allowed himself to experience Alfred's general being and scent and nature as another, real person who felt as he did and thought as he did and yet was not at all like him.

They parted and Alfred took off his glasses to rub his eyes. For a moment Arthur saw those bright, endless blues which had impressed him ever since their first meeting. Magnus' fussing only added to the tension and the urgency of their separation.

"I suppose this is it," Arthur said at last.

"I'll see you soon," Alfred replied with dedicated conviction.

Arthur gave a nod and there was a moment where they two only stood staring at one another.

For some reason they instinctively embraced a second time: Perhaps it was to do with their previous conversation or perhaps it was just the swell of emotion in Arthur's chest which arose as he considered walking away. Before they could completely pull away, in a impulsive moment of affection he took Alfred's hand and pressed his lips to his fingers, grazing his knuckles with a kiss which was oddly intimate.

Alfred held his eye as he did so, taken aback by the gesture and looking like he might cry. His mouth was ajar and the wind kept on rippling that golden hair like it ripples fields of wheat. His stomach felt like it was a whirlpool and his heart had sped up about ten times faster in his chest. Arthur seemed surprised at his own action and his own sigh sent warm air over the others hand.

How was it that one kiss on his hand from Arthur could set off a spark in Alfred stronger than any of the advances from Angelique. Was there something...wrong with him?

"Arthur, I...-" Alfred began suddenly, voice breaking, wanting to tell him what was in his head, wanting to say: _'you're the one I imagined it would be with'._

"-See you soon, then," Arthur spoke quietly but firmly, unable to hear any more.

"But-..."

"Alfred, if I don't go now I don't think I'll be able to do it - don't make me say goodbye to you again," his voiced wavered, "please."

"I-..." Alfred fought the urge to say what was in his aching head, " alright, go."

"I'll see you again, love."

Arthur mounted his horse and gave Alfred a final glance before turning and riding at a dizzying speed in the opposite direction, fast enough to ensure he would not crumble and turn back to that boy who he did not know meant quite so much.

Alfred held onto that word 'love' for the rest of the day. He knew he shouldn't pin his hopes on it, but it was all that kept him from breaking a little bit inside.

* * *

A/N: Here ya go! Next one shouldn't take as long to get out.

Hope you're enjoying the story! Feel free to leave me a review! :D


	18. Was There Nothing?

**Was There Nothing?**

Arthur's home was silent when he returned to it late that afternoon, Peter must have been at the schoolhouse (still run by two solitary and dedicated tutors despite hard times) and Mel was mysteriously absent (most likely she had told him she would be busy and the exact reason had slipped his mind).

The place felt oddly desolate, though the remains of a fire were still smoking in the fireplace and unwashed plates had been left at the table. Peter's soldiers were scattered on the floor by his bed, Arthur sighed as he gathered them up. He didn't want to leave his home and family...and yet, he wanted to take the trip. Regardless of the danger, he wanted to take a break from the struggling battle of every normal day and turn something around for himself - even if just to inspire himself to turn things around a little more often when he returned. Maybe he would go and find work in Rainyoak. Maybe he would be a farmer with a big country house where Mel and Peter could spend time in the garden. If he could do this now, why not that later?

Anyway, it was all for the best.

As he set down his jacket on the hook by the front door Arthur was aware of a creak from somewhere in the house and his guard rose immediately. The house had very few rooms and he concluded that the noise must have come from his own. Was it Natalia, sneaking round in there a day early? He wouldn't put it past her.

Just as he mustered the courage to investigate there was another creak and slow footsteps on the boards and a figure appeared silhouetted in the door frame.

After squinting against the light which framed him, Arthur recognised Antonio and sighed in relief.

Arthur had been to Antonio's home the previous day and been told he was out - he had expected to see him the morning after and had no luck again; he hadn't been at work. He had almost begun to hope he wouldn't see him before he left; he would ask the most questions and be one of the hardest to lie to. But here he was.

"Toni," Arthur let out a shaky laugh, approaching him in the doorway, "why do you always have to sneak up on me?"

"Sorry, it's a bad habit..." he gave a half smile, "I hope you don't mind - the door wasn't locked so I just...let myself in."

"I was actually hoping to see you..." Arthur began moving past Antonio into his small room. He felt inexplainably nervous.

"Ma told me you stopped by," he replied, eyes downcast, his tone light but with a lack of life, a pessimistic edge.

"I...well, basically I..." Arthur tried to remember how the story about the Rainyoak farm went but found himself floundering, embarrassed to tell such a false story to Antonio. Embarrassed to lie so openly.

Antonio watched him with his eyebrows knitted together in concern. As the younger boy began to roughly form his story he saw his friend's eyes wander worriedly to something beside him.

"What's this, Arthur?" Antonio asked gently but without a hint of a smile - without any emotion at all, really - gesturing to an open sack on Arthur's bed, half packed with clothes and the odds and ends of food.

"Oh, well, that's part of what I was explaining-" Arthur was disconcerted by the sombre tone of his friend, the look in his eye.

"-Are you leaving?" Antonio interrupted sharply, his face a mask of dark surprise and concern, "Arthur, is that what that is? Are you leaving Kattleroot?"

"Well..." Arthur struggled for the words which had come so much more easily with the others - even Alfred.

"I need a straight answer from you, Art!" Antonio rose his voice and it cracked slightly as he did so, "I need a straight answer or I think I'll go mad."

"...Yes," Arthur replied in a quiet, somewhat hoarse voice, taken aback by Antonio's emotion, "I'm going tomorrow."

Antonio stared at him for a second and gradually that painful concern was seeping back into his face and he shook his head slowly from side to side and reached a hand to his hair to push it back and hold it there as if that would change what he was seeing.

"Please," he responded numbly, "please tell me you're kidding."

"Toni? Come on, don't be like this," Arthur stepped toward him, surprised that he was taking it so badly, "it's not forever! I have an apprenticeship, that's all..."

"You can't be sure of that, Arthur!" Antonio's voice rose and he wore a desperate expression that Arthur was not accustomed to seeing on him, "how do I know I'm not losing you forever?"

"You're being ridiculous!" Arthur couldn't hold back his disbelief, "it won't be forever - and besides, you don't need me so badly as you're acting, I just slow you down and all that," Arthur gave a wry smile but spoke with seriousness, "I can't always be that annoying puppy jumping up at your heels anymore."

"Well-...well maybe I don't find that puppy so annoying as I make out," his friend retorted, his voice not quite managing to stay even, "listen, I know maybe I haven't been there lately like I should have - maybe you think that means I don't care - but if you do then you're wrong."

Arthur struggled to keep up with his friend's desperate gabble.

"Toni-!" he began but was beaten down by his friend's growing panic.

"-And I came here because I wanted to tell you that this past week it's been almost like old times and everything's been so much more..." he grimaced, searching for words, " ...meaningful, than in the longest time - even though it's been the worst week of my life I also knew that there was more to life than I'd been seeing before - why do you think I had the strength to come back to work that day? I didn't care about losing my job, Arthur, that's nothing to me now that pa's not running the forge!"

"Then...why?" Arthur's voice was subdued and he couldn't quite look his friend in the eye, afraid of his anger and dizzied by the weight of his words.

"Why?" Antonio responded in exasperation, releasing a hard laugh, "because of you!"

He said it as if it was an accusation but such a feeling couldn't have explained what he did next.

Without warning, his best friend had taken a decisive step towards him, paused to search his face in an imploring bid for common understanding between them and, seizing his shoulders, he had pressed his mouth against his. Arthur's old boyish fantasies resurfaced for an instant and his stomach made a nervous, sickening shift as he remembered the way he had guiltily imagined this moment year after year of being completely smitten with the older boy. Despite the way this feeling had finally faded over the past year he could not help the way it rushed back now that it was really happening - that unachievable goal - Antonio kissing him. He was so caught up in the surreal moment that it was not him but Antonio who pulled away first and it was only then that he had time to let his mind catch up with his body.

"Have you gone mad?" Arthur felt his face searing with heat and refused to meet his friend's eye, more than alittle breathless, " What are you-...what are you doing?"

"Something that I should have done ages ago," Arthur felt another shift of butterflies as his friend admitted this, still standing much too close to him, still holding his arm.

"...What about Belle?" Arthur didn't have a clue why he said this, his voice acting dopily on its own. Perhaps he was remembering that awful evening when Antonio had confessed his love for her and Arthur had spent night upon agonising night going over everything they had said with the hope of shifting the outcome to one where his heart wasn't broken but where Antonio kissed him the way he had just now.

"What do you mean, Belle?" Antonio asked incredulously, "me and her haven't been together in forever - you know that."

"But Toni she's..." Arthur felt flustered and embarrassed to bring it up now of all times, "she's pregnant."

"And you think it's mine?" Antonio forked his hand at his own chest with an indignant expression.

"Well..." Arthur felt his face heat up," yeah."

Antonio seemed angry for a moment and then worried, his brow furrowed deeply and he shook his head at the ground for a moment.

"Look, me and Belle barely - " Antonio halted mid-way through his sentence and look conflicted and embarrassed for a moment before shaking his head decisively, "anyway, that's not important now - she isn't important now, not like that."

Arthur cocked his head at Antonio, intrigued by both of his statements almost equally. Antonio and Belle hadn't had the perfect uncomplicated relationship Arthur had imagined apparently. Despite not having feelings for Antonio the way he used to, part of him felt a deep relief at the knowledge.

"Do you know who the father is?" Arthur asked, again, stupidly bringing the subject to Belle. _Let it go, idiot_.

"Who do you think she's always getting letters from?" Toni asked sharply and clenched his fist at his side, " either way, me and her were never built to last. You knew that didn't you? I was such an idiot, Arthur, because it was always...it was always meant to be you wasn't it?" he paused as if this were actually a question he wanted an answer to, though he was only greeted with stunned silence, "You knew that too."

"...W-what do you mean?" Arthur feigned innocence though his face was still burning hot, his heart now hammering in his ears. He couldn't really be hearing this now of all times; he must be having another nightmare.

Antonio moved closer to him again and their height difference was suddenly scarily apparent, Antonio gazing down at Arthur who attempted to take a nervous step back and bumped up against the wall.

"I was an ass to you - I can see that now," he caught Arthur's eye and held it, putting his hands on Arthur's crossed arms which acted as a weak barrier between them, "you didn't think Belle was good for me back then - not like that - and I couldn't see that but I also didn't see something else," he paused, "I didn't see the way you felt about me."

"Antonio..." Arthur felt as though his head had become a soup of confusion, swirled together which each twist of the conversation.

"But, I can't just realise that and then let you leave!" it was as if his friend were pleading with him, "I can't, even if it's good for you, I want to be selfish, you've always been mine, Arthur! And I never knew how much I took that for granted!"

He leaned in and kissed him again and Arthur felt that initial sickening tingle, hating to pull away from the hands which pressed against his back and the warmth of his body in the small space. His words struck something in Arthur though, and despite the command Toni undoubtedly had over him, despite the fact that he was flattered in many ways, despite the irrestistable intensity of his kiss, there was another feeling bubbling within him - a feeling like anger.

The sick irony of the situation began to slowly dawn and build into a quiet rage: He was right - Arthur had always been Toni's - always.

His best friend had managed to unbutton half of his shirt but Arthur ended up shoving him so forcefully that one button was ripped off completely and clattered against the window. It might have been funny had the two not been so emotionally invested in such different ways.

"Toni, _don't_ ," Arthur could look him in the eye now, and did so with a hard, merciless expression, "do you really think you know how I felt then? Do you actually?"

"Well- ..." Antonio was still breathless from the kiss and taken aback at Arthur's sudden outburst, "I can't imagine how it felt for you, Art, but I wasn't so oblivious not to consider the fact that you had...feelings for me."

Arthur gave a hard laugh, mostly this was at himself, because he was perhaps the biggest idiot to have ever walked the earth.

"Oh, well I definitely had a lot of those, Toni! And you're right about another thing," Arthur continued in a state of near hysterical amusement, "I _was_ yours! I was in love with you for _four years_ , Toni! And it was agony most of the time! I spent four years dealing with the painful burden of being head over heels for someone that I thought didn't even know, let alone return that sentiment! And you choose now of all times to want me back? Please, somebody tell me it's a joke."

"I'm not joking - not at all," Antonio seemed stunned but determined, "and I'm sorry I was such a fool all that time...I want to make that up to you...if I hurt you, I want to make it up."

"Can you make up four years, Toni?" Arthur's anger did not fade but only seemed to grow, "I waited all that time for you to say this - for you to come in here like you did today and tell me that you loved me - I'm finally over you, I finally have another agenda and you actually show? I don't even blame you - this one's on me - because I must have been one hell of an imbecile in my former life for fate to have it out for me _this_ badly."

Antonio couldn't find the words to reply with and retained an expression of shock and slight pain.

"I'm sorry..." he was uncharacteristically quiet when he eventually did murmur his reply.

"So what is it exactly you're telling me?" Arthur continued with mock enthusiasm, as if he had not heard the other's apology, "that you've decided you're in love with me now?"

Arthur laughed after he asked, ridiculing the prospect, but Antonio only opened his mouth and said nothing, looking from Arthur to the ground as if now confused himself. The sun's setting rays came through into the room and slashed bright bars across his face. His eyes caught the glow, green as the riverbed. The look he gave Arthur at last made him hesitate despite his anger. All he could see in his friend's eye was sadness and defeat.

"Toni?...you're not actually saying...?" Arthur replied in disbelief.

"Just don't go, Arthur," his friend replied softly at last and Arthur saw in the beam of light that Toni was exhausted - dark circles beneath his eyes and a slump in his shoulders, "I can't let someone else go," he finally let his voice falter and brought his shaking hands to his face where the pain had already been allowed to consume his features. He sank onto Arthur's bed, head hanging, hands still hiding his face."...Felix died this morning," Antonio spoke through his clasped hands but to Arthur it felt as if the words had been uttered underwater in a space where they were both running out of air.

"Oh...Oh god, Toni, I..." Arthur felt his resolve crumble, genuinely shocked by the news and feeling for the devastation of his friend, "I had no idea, I'm...I'm so sorry."

"No, I know you didn't - don't apologize," Antonio's voice was still muffled by his hands or perhaps he had finally allowed himself to weep for his brother, "that shouldn't change anything between us - I know how you really feel now - I've never liked you going easy on me."

Arthur lowered himself onto the bed beside the grieving boy and put an arm around his shoulders. He understood how he felt in some ways - after all, Arthur's love for his own family was driving him to leave his home town for an unknown destination. Toni's love for his deceased brother drove him to cling to those around him who he was afraid to lose. There was a comfort in turning to someone when experiencing loss, in throwing yourself into one love due to the loss of another. A year ago Arthur would have given Antonio any comfort he needed and taken the same comfort from it himself. He wasn't the same besotted boy now but he did still love the boy beside him in one way or another and for that he felt he owed him something, even if small.

"Listen, Toni..." he began after a few minutes had passed, the sun had left them and the room lay in shadow, "...I don't really have an apprenticeship."


	19. Bad Omen

**Bad Omen**

Deliberation meetings were not easy to bear for either prince of spades now that the initial novelty of taking an active part in the card council had worn off, just as the first snow had melted into puddles of slush this morning; dazzling white faded to a somewhat unsightly beige.

On Matthew's part, his presence in the meetings was barely noticed and his opinion never called for. He didn't really mind -not that much. He listened attentively and sat scribbling notes throughout them - most of which he passed to his younger brother as they left the meeting room, Alfred's own page only ever containing a few doodles of rabbits or stars or boys with bows and arrows. Despite his inability to record anything from the discussions, Matthew noticed that his brother took part much more in them than he once might have, interjecting often with points of view which were actually quite informed. This pleased his older brother, at least.

Outside of the meeting room, however, his brother seemed in lower spirits than ever. He spent a great deal of time on his own, gazing out the window or in his room when usually he would have always had company. The past day or so had been particularly bad. He had returned from the garden and not touched his breakfast, prodding the food with his fork rather than eating it in a way which was very out of character. He had then spent most of the day attempting to read a romance novel the Queen of Hearts had lent him and putting it aside with a restless sigh every five minutes or so and looking out the window in a very dramatically troubled fashion. Mattie was not the only one to notice: Queen Elizaveta and Jack Feliciano stopped him as he passed them into the parlour after another dinner of pushing food about on the plate.

"Oh, Alfred, you must be in love, dear," Elizaveta commented with a mischievous smile, tucking in her chair.

"Si, si, you are, Alfred! You were sighing all through dinner!" Feliciano eagerly joined her, "unless you did not like the meal..."

"He's lovesick, for certain," Elizaveta winked at the boy who Mattie saw now turn a little red in the face.

"Of course! We had pasta for dinner!" Feliciano concluded, "...it must be love!"

Angelique glanced sharply in their direction after catching a fragment of their teasing. She swiftly looked away and stuck her chin in the air as if disinterested as the group continued into the parlour room. Alfred himself wore an expression of mild distress, shaking his head half heartedly at the royals while his cheeks became increasingly flushed.

Mattie initially thought it somewhat unlikely that his brother was in love - he was quite nervous if ever Matthew mentioned Angelique to him - but he thought this was probably because his brother feared the possibility of their marriage rather than any actual feelings of love. He supposed he could have taken an interest in Erika, but if Matthew had not seen signs of that, Basch, her over protective brother, surely would have. The other option, of course, was that something had happened between his brother and that boy from the farming region - maybe they had had a fight? Maybe he wasn't coming back anymore? but Matthew would be happy not to have to cover for him so often if this was the case: lying really stressed him out. For a while Matthew had thought the boy might just have been an imaginary friend like the one Alfred had had when he was very young - Tony, was it? He'd had to accept that this boy was real since then and had even seen his horse through the trees once or twice. It was true that ever since Alfred had first met him, Matthew had thought his brother was a little bit in love with him - no subject or person could put such a light in his eyes or glow in his cheeks - no one else did he speak of so eagerly. Still, It would be much safer if he stopped coming to the palace. Matthew was thinking about saying this to Alfred soon anyway.

Anyway, he wasn't going to think about his brother right now, he was doing something for himself. He had to remind himself of this several times as he made his way down the empty corridors.

He had made a resolution and he was going to keep it - at least that's what he kept telling himself as he hastily exited the conservatory and wove through the courtyard, past the maze and out onto the front drive. His boots crunched on the gravel and gave more authority than he felt. The air was colder than he had anticipated, dressed in only his sweater, he braced himself against the sharp edge of the breeze as he saw the man he was seeking, in his vivid red military jacket, leading his horse from the direction of the stables. A stable boy tottered at the horse's rear carrying a saddle. Matthew was thrown off by the fact that the man was not alone and hesitated for a moment on the threshold of visibility. Another cool gust of wind brought him to his senses and he stepped out, crossing his path.

"Um, e-excuse me sir," Matthew tried to reduce the existence of nerves in his voice.

He stood awkwardly in front of him as the man lifted his face to acknowledge and recognize him.

"Ah... Mattyboy, how did I know you'd meet me out here?" the man halted just ahead of him, grinning in his open, excitable way.

"You were ...?" Matthew began in surprise as the man continued in the direction of the main gate with his horse in tow, "oh, right...it must be nice to always predict these things."

He gave a cautious smile in return for the Joker's own and fell into step with him, as he went on his way with ease and confidence.

"Not always," Gilbert argued in good nature, " I didn't predict that this guy here would take it upon himself to lug this thing all the way after me," he turned to the apologetic stable boy and took the saddle out of his hands," go on, buzz off," he demanded, laughing.

Now, not far from the gate, the man stopped to attach the saddle to his horse, Matthew watched him do so, the sun catching the reddish hue of his eyes as he focused, smiling to himself. An albino's eyes were often even more striking than their hair, but Matthew himself also had peculiar eyes, faded into a soft violet shade as he had grown older, and he observed Gilbert's eyes only with some admiration for the way his smile always reached them.

"Gilbert..." Matthew found the courage to begin at last, adjusting his glasses, "I just wanted to ask..."

"You know, Matthew, I'll be back from the training ground this evening if you wanna start asking a bunch of questions," the pale haired man finished fastening the saddle and cocked his head at the anxious prince, only smiling at the other's awkwardness.

"Well..." Matthew didn't want to keep him from his engagement but forced himself to be forward, something he normally hated doing, "no, no - don't worry, I don't have a lot of questions, I just couldn't not say anything to you about-..."

The joker's gaze wandered from Matthew to the main gate and his expression became hard and calculating, as if he had seen or smelled something which displeased him. Matthew's words trailed off into the air as he watched him observing the gate with caution.

"Get behind me," Gilbert glanced back to Matthew and touched a hand to the sword sheathed at his belt, not losing his grimace.

"What?" Matthew glanced nervously to the gate but saw nothing - nobody, "why?-"

"Do it!" he demanded more harshly, holding an arm out in front of him now.

"I..." Matthew considered what was being asked of him for just a moment longer, eying the uniformed man in confusion.

"Merciful gods!" Gilbert exerted in exasperation, grabbing Matthew by the shoulder of his sweater and pulling him close to him, behind his back, "do you want to die?!"

As if in the same instant there came a loud, obtrusive crack from somewhere close by and the Joker's body was thrown forcefully to one side, away from Matthew. He let out a cry of pain and clutched his shoulder. The retreating stable boy released an alarmed squawk and turned on his heel, spraying gravel as he ran to meet them once more. The guard at the gate, having heard the earsplitting crack and the man's cry were up and running, yelling as they scattered unto the thin forest between the palace and the city, whistling loudly to alert others stationed nearby.

"Oh god, sir, you've been shot, sir, " the stable boy announced with a shaking voice, he looked as though his knees might give way beneath him.

Matthew shared his emotion, looking from the gate to the wounded man in disbelief and having to remind himself that he wasn't dreaming. Mattie considered himself to be someone who usually expected the worst, but this was a truly awful outcome to his seeking the man out this morning.

"Why, yes," Gilbert replied, panting, "I can see that, boy, but thanks for clarifying."

"You're bleeding, Gilbert!" Matthew gasped and went to the doubled up man pressing his hand instinctively to the source of the blood and looping his arm around his shoulders, "why...why would someone do this?"

"You two are a class act," Gilbert responded with sarcasm but, somehow, he still wore a pained grin, "and they weren't aiming for me, Matt," he tried to straighten up, wincing as he did so, "listen, kid, go inside and tell the nurse I got hit, Mattie here will take me in."

"Y-yes, sir, you just be careful, sir," the stable boy skittered back along the gravel toward the palace.

"Is it bad, Joker?" A guard called as he made for the gate, "is the prince hurt?"

"It's just my shoulder that's all, nothing a man like me can't handle," Gilbert called back as Matthew acted as his crutch on their hasty way to the main entrance, "...not a scratch on the prince."

He muttered the last phrase with a fixed, quiet resolution, his pained grin replaced with a look of determination.

"I'm so sorry, Gilbert," Matthew agonised softly as he led him into the front door with difficulty, "if I wasn't so stubborn and had let you go this wouldn't have happened and-..."

"And you would probably be dead," the older man retorted in a strained but firm tone.

"Why would anyone want me dead?" Matthew whispered almost to himself, the albino man's blood seeping through his fingers as he pulled him towards his room at the palace.

Why would someone want to kill him of all people?

* * *

So came the time for Arthur to leave Kattleroot. He had been able to hunt down four rabbits that had been coaxed out by the hint of springtime on the breeze that morning. These were some consolation for having to leave his family to fend for themselves for a while - though Antonio had promised to find a little time to hunt for them where he could and had even commented that he might be able to craft real traps if he improved enough on the forge - an optimistic but useful prospect.

The evening had proven long for both of them. In a roundabout about yet long winded way Arthur had illustrated his situation to Antonio, who on his part had listened with amazement and some incredulity. It had taken Arthur hours just to attempt to cautiously describe and make excuses for his relationship with the Prince of Spades (though he downplayed it considerably) and another to justify his agreeing to Natalia's offer. Antonio was eventually swayed to sympathize with Arthur's plight but it was long dark by the time the topics of Arthur's fears and Antonio's grief were exhausted and the motions of tears and anger and love and hate gone through enough times that neither one of them could bear to repeat them any longer.

Mel had pressed open Arthur's door late that night, having come from the Carriedo house itself and had found the two of them still in their work clothes, curled up like children, asleep on Arthur's narrow bed. Antonio had not even removed his boots before exhaustion had taken him. But still, she was glad those boys had each other; a little mercy in a dark time like this.

When morning came, Arthur had slipped out of the house without disturbing his sleeping friend but returned from his hunt to find him also gone and Mel dressed in her formal black dress.

"Glad you're here for this at least, dear," she said and touched his hand in a gesture of comfort which said 'all is not lost'.

"Where's Peter?" Arthur asked as he pulled on his 'smart' jacket, which was of course as worn and ill-fitting as the rest of his wardrobe.

"In bed - poor thing has come over all feverish this morning - I've given him a poultice so we needn't worry."

Arthur took the time to check on his brother anyway, finding him firmly tucked up in Mel's bed, sleeping a little restlessly, cheeks flushed and a sweat on his brow. When Arthur bent low and raised a hand to the child's forehead it was hot to the touch. Peter's eyes fluttered at Arthur's gesture, taking the elder sibling aback. When his eyes fully opened he was looking past Arthur as if he wasn't there. His breath came out in ragged sighs.

"You disappointed her," he said groggily and Arthur frowned; his brother's voice was solemn and dead, as if the six year old was suffering from shellshock - as if he were a hundred years old.

"What did you say, pet?" he thought he must have misheard his brother, but it didn't stop a cold uncomfortable feeling from spreading within him at what he thought he'd heard come from his younger siblings mouth.

"We disappointed her, " he was alarmed to see his brother's eyes glistening with tears, "she wanted girls - she was disappointed with you and - " he made a choking sound in his throat, "me even more. And you couldn't even save her. She would be so...disappointed."

"W-what...?" Arthur found that any other words escaped him as he stared at his brother, who in turn stared past him, eyes full of tears, lip quivering.

"How's he doing?" Mel announced as she entered the doorway to the room, making Arthur jump.

"He's babbling complete nonsense!" Arthur turned to her in alarm, but when he turned to look at his brother once more the glazed look in his eye that had been so haunting to him was replaced with his usual inquisitive gaze, pointed in their direction now.

"Could I have some water please, Mel?" Arthur flexed his jaw in surprise at the normal innocent tone his brother had regained - had it been all in his head somehow? Was he going mad?

"Not a problem, sweetheart," Mel replied and as Arthur slowly began to make his way out of the room to follow her she turned and said, "sometimes the fever muddles the words that's all - he's going to be right as rain tomorrow."

Arthur couldn't shake the cold feeling which spread across him at the way his brother had looked past him with eyes full of tears. Even if it had all been his imagination - who had they disappointed? In his heart he knew that he must know, but it was too painful to bear thinking about.

* * *

The funeral was a well attended but a quiet affair. Sophia was struggling to hold back her tears as the old priest gave poor Felix his last rites in the run down churchyard. The place had really fallen into disrepair over the years (though Arthur never remembered it being very glorious) and the crumbling, lopsided headstones had shrubs and thistles sprouting up between them. On one side a sloping hill of unmarked graves was a more recent addition which had expanded over the course of the winter. There was something which seemed ancient and forgotten about the space which made Felix's freshly dug grave feel as unnatural as the loss of the boy himself. A lack of colour in general amongst the gravestones was broken on this morning by the bushels of flowers in people's arms, the young logging group had an armful each of colourful wild daisies and from near the back of the crowd Arthur could also see that Belle held a sizeable bunch of white flowers. The rest held mostly bunches of snowdrops. He felt comparatively empty handed but forced himself to let that guilt pass and pay his respects as best he could before his time was up in town.

Once the priest was done, Antonio lifted a battered guitar to his knee that Arthur remembered he would quite frequently play on request at the Goose in past years but had not touched all winter. The melody he played was almost familiar to Arthur who felt as if he might have heard Antonio's father play for them one evening long ago. The words struck a chord with Arthur and as they blossomed into the silence of the churchyard, he struggled to recall when last he had heard Antonio sing.

It dawned on Arthur that he had heard the song before and the feeling of its familiarity made him feel dizzy and lightheaded. It was a nursery rhyme, perhaps? Or a lullaby? Something which a woman had sung to him once a long time ago and reminded him of comfort and warmth. In the churchyard, others were just as moved by the music which was carried on the air. Sophia let her tears fall and solemn faces turned towards the earth, grown men wiped water from their eyes and the children were stilled and silenced.

Arthur was overcome with thoughts of the words that he had heard his brother utter to him that very morning as he listened to this heartbreaking lullaby. This was not a day for Arthur to grieve for his own fractured memories but as he saw them lower Felix's thin, wooden coffin into the ground he felt as though he could not bear to bury that old life and that forgotten home: he was eighteen now and finally ready to unearth his own secrets. He prayed this place he was going could help him. He prayed Natalia was right.

Afraid he would cry, Arthur prepared himself to make an exit, catching Antonio's eye as the song ended and nodding at him gravely. He glanced towards Mel at the front and let the feeling of sadness and resolution wash him down once more before he turned to leave them, quietly opening the rusty gates to let himself out and escaping toward the forest. He would not look back to the life which seemed held together with no more than strings and glue and he would not return to it until it was securely whole once more, for himself, for the Carriedo's and for his little not-quite-home.

* * *

 **A/N** : I split these last couple into 2 chapters as it made most sense to me but I'm releasing them both now as I'm behind schedule (and the first one was relatively short)!

I've been quite occupied with making arrangments to move into a new house for uni next year but as long as people are still interested and reading the fic I will continue putting out chapters! So please leave me a review to let me know how you're finding it! :)

Lots of love, mwah


	20. An End, A start

**An End, A start  
**

"Are you listening, Alfred?" Matthew frowned, cocking his head.

The younger Jones brother stared back but didn't quite see, he hadn't had time to put on his new glasses, but this wasn't the cause of his vacant gaze.

Matthew had taken Alfred aside to break the news. The elder prince had been more than a little confused himself at first, listening to Gilbert's theory about the incident as his shoulder was bandaged by the palace nurse; the theory that the gunman had mistaken Matthew for Alfred and that this whole awful affair was a new, twisted form of rebellion against the monarchy.

Mattie had wanted to stay by his side longer, still feeling guilty for what had happened and still aware that he had not managed to tell him the very thing which had led him to march out to meet the man that morning, but the nurse insisted the Joker have time to rest. Gilbert assured her that he would be healed in no time - Joker's had extremely expedited healing times, a phenomenon linked to their delayed aging process: a wound like this would be no more than a few days work for him. The Man did look a little drained nonetheless and Matthew hated to trouble him further.

Alfred sat on the Jack's desk in his study, shoe tapping nervously against the shining wood (Yao would have a fit if he saw this). The room felt too large suddenly, bookcases too tall, too full of volumes. If they got new books where would they go? The cases were full already - came an anxious, idiotic thought. Alfred opened his mouth to ask Mattie and then stopped himself. He looked up, the ceiling was a mile away, the windows were too long. outside, the lawn was too wide and flat. Couldn't someone shoot through glass? Shouldn't they be hunched under the table talking about this? He grimaced through an amused and somewhat hysterical snort at how laughable that prospect suddenly seemed; how laughable it all seemed for a moment.

"Alfred?" Matthew repeated, stepping hesitantly closer to him.

"But why?" Alfred muttered at last, catching his brother's glance, "why would they want to kill me or you? Why not...I don't know, the Jack - not that I want that or anything, but..."

Matthew sighed and rubbed his forehead. When he looked up again he was staring out the window himself.

"It's...well, I suppose it's because you're...going to be king and -" Alfred's eyebrows knitted together and he felt as if he might actually have to shout at his brother for stating the overstated but Matthew hurried on without him, " - and these people have been without a king for years - a long time - but they're playing by a king's rules, and not even such a nice one in their eyes," his shoulders relaxed to see Alfred looking more thoughtful than angry, " I think maybe some people think they can overturn the hierarchy like this or that everything will improve if the palace is forced to acknowledge them and how bad things are the way they are. I was confused myself and I'm not as knowledgeable as Gilbert but...that's what I understand."

"I just don't know how to fix something like this," Alfred's face was a mask of anxiety, he bit his lip, "I don't know what I can do to reverse this."

"You can't Alfred, it's not your fault, you-" Matthew didn't want his brother to take it on his own shoulders, he felt it was all a horrible misunderstanding.

"But it is! I'm the Prince of Spades! I'm meant to be the good guy! There shouldn't be people trying to assassinate me," his fist closed around the edge of the desk, "Yao never prepared me for this."

"You are right, I have been negligent," a third voice interjected their conversation and Alfred was almost unsurprised to see the Jack of Spades standing in the doorway, posture perfectly pulled together as always, expression calm, "and you're ruining the desk with your shoes."

"You're really worrying about that now?" Alfred retorted heatedly, though he flushed that he had been caught all the same.

It wasn't enough to quell his sudden anger though - he was no longer a child that could be subdued with a petty scolding.

"Your highness, if you would just-" Yao closed his eyes, putting a hand to his temple.

"-But I've done all the classes and I've learnt all the business and the economy and the policies of war and the history of every town and all of the trade laws -almost all of them - but I feel like I'm not prepared at all," Alfred wasn't shouting, but he almost was - not the shrill wail of a child but the demanding tone of a young man, " I'm not on the throne yet and there's already been an attempt on my life!"

Alfred shifted from the table so that he was standing - he was the same height as the Jack now - Matthew noticed this as he looked between the two, wanting to leave but fearing the gesture of walking out the door.

"I..." Yao still had his eyes closed as if the words pained him a little, " I agree that I went about this the wrong way," Alfred raised his head to continue his tirade but was denied the satisfaction, " I became obsessed with protecting you - obviously that has failed today - and I knew deep down that keeping you naive was the wrong choice, but I could not risk anyone involved with the throne being endangered - especially not you - and especially not since..."

"Not since when?... " Alfred felt a rush of adrenaline to have the words out between them, Yao had shown an actual weakness and he was testing it, "Since that family died?"

"How do you know about that?" the Jack questioned sharply and Mattie also had to give him a frowning glance.

"Why does it matter?" Alfred replied somewhat nervously, feeling he owed at least something to Angelique,

"Well...in fact, yes, I was thinking about that incident," the Jack sighed, glancing at Matthew, " it was a fatal slip up - there is barely a day when it doesn't cross my mind that we failed our duties in that way - how the culprit - who, for all we knew, was operating from within the court itself - slipped through our fingers without a trace. That fire was no accident...and with the powers the boy was rumoured to have, it was also a great political loss."

"Powers?" Alfred asked, his attention suddenly drawn, "The same things you're asking Angelique about? The magic thing?"

"Ah, so she has spoken with you."Yes... I thought she and the Kirkland boy had the same talent, I was not so certain of her heritage, but Sadik, her uncle, is a long term friend, and he assured me she had the power of the Sense - that is, the ability to control the elements," Yao was talking to himself more than to Alfred, maybe that was the only way he could convince himself to let the boy in.

"The actual Sense? I thought you only saw spirits with that?" Alfred's anger dissolved into intrigue, though his amazement at the Jack's ability to keep secrets remained.

"...Yes, that is the popular rumour - but I have reason to believe there is a lot more to it than that... some still call it witchcraft, sorcery, a curse but, as the Jack of Spades...I found it fascinating and...powerful," he met Alfred's gaze, "I thought, let's rethink what a queen should be - let's rethink our old superstitions."

"Tell me, Yao, I have to hear it outright," Alfred struggled to hold his mentor's eye as he asked the question he had been afraid of answering for over a year now, "Angelique, she is to be Queen, isn't she?...she is to be... my wife?"

"Do you not want her to be your wife?" Yao questioned, with an unreadable look on his face.

"I..." Alfred was stumped by this response - it wasn't one he had expected to receive, "I didn't think I had a choice in the matter."

The two observed each other for a moment in stony silence. Eventually the Jack of Spades let out a deep sigh.

"I admit it has...become part of my expectations for you," Yao nodded and Alfred felt his heart was heavy in his chest, though he wasn't surprised, "after the Kirkland manor was burned down I thought myself a fool - too radical too soon when your parents rule had been so loved and so distinctly...traditional," he had pressed the tips of his fingers together on each hand so they made a kind of arch and held Alfred's eye, "and considering the fact that Miss Mancham has not shown even the smallest glimmer of the Sense perhaps traditionalism is the only avenue we have left to save face in these times...you could follow in your parents footsteps."

"...And be married," Alfred reiterated nervously, losing eye contact with his guardian.

"It was merely a theory," Yao added calmly, "and perhaps a presumptuous one but you know, your highness, when you were very young you were quite adamant that you wanted to marry your queen...I suppose I've been blind to see you grown into new ideas...you have been rather sheltered and boys will like to have...experience."

"That's not-! It's not like that, I'm still..." Alfred struggled against a tide he could not turn and lost hold of any coherent speech, "I'd still like to marry my queen, but..."

"S-surely there may be some compromise...some alternative?" suddenly Matthew found himself with two pairs of eyes upon him - one dark and shrewd, the other blue and pleading.

"Well, there is something else of note, Alfred - as I have agreed that keeping you in the dark was unwise, I will tell you," The Jack seemed to take a moment to compose himself, raking a hand through his hair before going on, "the Ace has been investigating a lead for some time that has led us to believe that the first chosen Queen is not, in fact, dead... as far as we know he could still be in the kingdom."

Alfred stared at him dumbly for a moment, still occupied with the thought of marrying Angelique.

"Oh..." Alfred didn't know what to do with this information which for some reason felt entirely irrelevant to his predicament.

"-Do you plan on seeking him out?" Matthew could not help but interrupt the exchange, reading the Jack's thoughts better than his brother did.

"We have an opportunity to do that - I would still like to see whether he really does have the powerful capabilities of which some with the sense are supposed to, and finding him may lead us closer to where we went wrong those years ago," Yao had become rather animated as he went on and Alfred grew nervous, "if we can locate this boy - well now he'd be nearly a man - but if we could locate him and bring him here-"

"-No," Alfred cut in sharply and Yao was jolted from his excitable planning, " What? you want to drag in some other poor queen-to-be? Wasn't Angelique enough? Oh no no, don't think about how _I_ feel about this though! I'm just thrilled to entertain - yeah - maybe I'll marry him too!" he rolled his eyes in exasperation, "I mean, seriously, I understand that you want to right your wrongs and see an opportunity but... bringing someone here who's already lost everything - taking them away from whatever life they may have now so that I can disappoint them too - that won't help at all."

Alfred's brows knitted together as he tailed off, feeling extremely lost for a moment. Was he being selfish? Was he being truthful? He didn't know.

"You need not worry about Angelique's position if that is what is troubling you?" Yao offered, ignoring Alfred's outburst and sarcasm which would be enough to have him sent to his room in normal circumstances, "even if by some miracle we did find this boy and if by equal miracle he showed us enough promise that we did reconsider offering him the role of Queen - well, tradition would be out the window and you would be free to privately court any young lady you wish - even Miss Mancham, I am certain, would forgive you."

"I'm not concerned about Miss Mancham, I'm concerned about _me_ ," Alfred was suddenly tired as he spoke, realising it was impossible to argue with a man who knew so little of his own heart and mind. He didn't want any young lady, he didn't want a magic stranger - he didn't want Angelique! - he wanted...well, he wasn't quite sure what he wanted yet.

"In any case, we are running out of time, Alfred, if things remain as they are here, Angelique will be coronated this year - rather than next, she is already of age and we see no benefit in waiting until she is eighteen - we need to bring mergence period to an end before it consumes the monarchy altogether." Yao was forever pragmatic and level-headed while Alfred's head began to pound with the effort of taking all of this in, "Due to this I do ask you to consider what I say about a marriage to Angelique - maybe it's a desperate act in current circumstances," Yao shook his head slightly in disappointment, "but Alfred, however difficult, please don't dismiss what I am proposing, I can only hope you will understand my decisions eventually."

Alfred said nothing, feeling frustrated and embarrassed. It seemed somehow petty to object when Yao made it out to be so crucial to their kingdom and yet he couldn't quite give in - something held him back and wouldn't let him go. He didn't need to be his father, he didn't want to be. Nor did he want to revert to the past - he wanted to move forward - progress! But they all seemed stuck in a rut instead, the three of them considering each other like the three points of a triangle.

Then the Jack did something he had not done in years. He reached out and, albeit somewhat awkwardly, put his hand on Alfred's shoulder.

"I'm sorry to have to spring these things on you, Alfred."

"I'm sure I can handle it," the Prince muttered, "and I will...consider what you say about Angelique."

He had this slow, cold feeling that now, with chaos in the palace, with Arthur gone, with the needs of the kingdom starting to overpower the needs of his own heart, his childish ideals would have to be brought to an end soon.

"Good," Yao gave his shoulder a final pat before withdrawing his hand, "then we must go over the final plan for your tour - obviously security measures are needed."

Matthew's shoulders sank in relief at last.

* * *

Alfred would probably be married before the year was up.

Arthur was struck with the stark thought as he held Magnus' reigns tightly, hands claw-like with the cold. They had been travelling for a few hours perhaps - the sun was setting now, the last rays filtered through the trees - and it was at this moment that he chose to pointlessly think of Alfred.

Yes, there would probably be a wedding and he would read about it in the paper and Belle would cut the article out and put it on her wall. Alfred would wear some over the top ceremonial garb and maybe they would even smooth his hair down so he didn't have that little flick in his fringe anymore. Why should that matter to Arthur at all? It shouldn't.

A sudden gripe in Arthur's stomach distracted him and he was made aware of his own hunger, having not eaten since the previous morning. He had a small amount of food in his pack but not much (he had felt guilty taking from the cupboard at home). He had hoped to hunt something out in the woods which they could roast on a fire or that Natalia might contribute something to their supplies. From the look of her luggage it didn't seem promising - only one sagging leather bag . Arthur's gaze went from the dress to the horse she was on, a thin, dappled mare that was going to be put out at the Warehouse. Arthur had taken his chances, in his mind Natalia had been fairly slight and he had been right, in fact, her waist was almost frighteningly tiny or perhaps it was an illusion from the thick sash she tied around it.

There was an audible growl from his stomach and he looked away from Natalia sharply, hoping not to draw attention to himself, embarrassed at his own hunger. He focused on the stream instead - that's what they were following for the time being and it wound in and out of the undergrowth like a snake, dipping beneath exposed roots and bubbling back up between the rocks. He had never ventured so far into the forest before and the path was not so straightforward, the ground sloping into ditches in places or forming ragged earthy ridges in others. The canopy above their heads was thin and dead mostly, but the branches entwined with one another in a way they didn't tend to in the outlying woodland. Through these entwined limbs he spotted the dimming sky and pondered where they would have to stop for the night. He had to force out a wistful longing for the chair by the fire at his cottage.

"We're still on the right path, yes?" Arthur was jolted back to his chilly, hungry reality by Natalia's almost nervous voice.

This was the first word to have passed between them for over an hour - Arthur hadn't minded: he liked the silence - he liked to have room for his thoughts. Or had, before said thoughts had become a pointless circling of recent events. Like a persistent vulture he picked at remains of conversations he had no reason to, turning over pieces in the light.

"Yes," he gave her a nod, "as long as we can see the stream we're good until the footpath and then..." he wrinkled his nose as the name escaped him and tried to visualise the map he'd 'borrowed' from the schoolhouse, "...we should pass a homestead and the village of Wyndale."

"It's getting dark," she commented and Arthur had a moment to wonder if she ever got cold: she wasn't wearing a jacket, just like the first time he'd met her - and then it had even been snowing.

"Are you..afraid of the dark?" Arthur asked, not serious in the slightest and unable to keep the laughter from bubbling through at the end.

"Shut up!" she hissed and then Arthur really did have to laugh.

"I was joking, sorry," Arthur fought his stupid smile and wondered if she'd murder him in the night.

Natalia stared at him, not quite angry, more bewildered, as if nobody had done that before: joked with her. Either embarrassed or frustrated she whipped her head around to face the path, pale hair briefly fanning out.

Arthur too repositioned himself to face their uncertain path, fighting a dangerous urge to laugh again.

* * *

Hours later the two stumbled into Wyndale Village having become hopelessly lost as the sun set. It was now viciously dark and the pressing howls of night creatures at their backs had forced them to seek shelter within the village . Arthur sorely regretted teasing Natalia about her fear of the dark; she wouldn't let him forget it for the entire hour they spent scrambling around through the undergrowth with no clue as to where they were headed.

Of course, it was also pelting down with rain. It was approaching torrential levels when they finally saw the signpost to Wyndale and were ushered into the town's walls by an incessant gust of wind. Arthur's clothes were heavy and sodden as he found a spare stable to tie their horses in. It was shabby yes, but good enough for a horse.

It was an uphill battle to the inn. Literally. Wyndale was very much built around the rock - the only positive of this fact being that they felt relatively safe from whatever lurked in the forest below. At its highest craggy peak stood the Rook's Nest Inn, battered sign banging incessantly against its post with the howling wind and the lantern flickering threateningly.

They'd been received with much suspicion upon shouldering their way into what they had hoped would be a safe haven for the night. The first thing Arthur noticed was that it was incredibly dark inside; he bumped up against a coat rack immediately after entering. Peering closer he saw that a yellow jar on each table did offer a few stale circles of light which, like the lantern at the door, flickered and made the tankards and hunched shoulders look as though they were quivering ever so slightly. The door banged against the wall once they were inside, pinned there by the angry wind. The hum of conversation died in the room like a snuffed out candle. A man playing a slumped piano in the far corner let his hands slip off the yellowing keys as he stared at the doorway. The barmaid stopped motionless midway through pouring a drink into a rusty tankard; there was the sound of the ale running over the edge of the rim. The patron himself took no notice of the spillage, only of the intruding silhouettes by the door. Those stale circles illuminated the glint of eyes all over the room which seemed trained on them, as if entranced.

"Um, good evening," Arthur said instinctively and immediately regretted the decision as he stared into the unimpressed eyes of the man closest to him.

The greeting was entirely ignored but it's utterance did seem to trigger the slow continuance of the inn's activities - the barmaid became aware of the mess she was making, grabbing a dishcloth to wipe it up with, and the men's attention returned to the tankards of ale in their hands; there was a creak as the man at the old piano turned to take in the keys once more.

Natalia left in search of water and lodging rates from the bar and Arthur slipped into the comforting darkness of a wooden booth. As his body hit the bench he heaved a sigh, letting his head thud against the back.

I wonder what would happen if I brought Alfred to a place like this, he thought with a wry smile. He cut his smile short when he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be thinking about Alfred anymore.

"Fancy a palm reading, boy?" a gravel voice from the shadows spoke and Arthur jolted back in his seat slightly.

A figure on the opposite side of the table leant forward and was illuminated as a pair of wide shoulders and a round, lined face.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realise the booth was occupied, I'll just..." Arthur gathered up his bag in a panic and began to push out of the seat, sure the thing before him must be some kind of apparition or demon.

"Don't be foolish," the woman seemed to smile, at least, the cracks in her face moved slightly, "I am happy for the company...now then, I know you must just be itching for a reading, yes?"

He hesitated, observing her. She was plump and old and not quite friendly - she was communicating with him at least - more than could be said for the others.

"I- I have no money," Arthur stuttered, still wary of her, though by now he could at least see that she was a human of some kind or the other. It was a lie: he had a few coins in his pocket, but those would be needed if they had any hope of staying under a roof tonight.

"Free of charge, boy, free of charge," her smile was unfaltering, her eyes glittered in the candlelight.

"...Alright," Arthur tentatively placed his arm on the table and allowed her to take his hand in her sandpaper claws, as lined as her old face.

"I can see here that you're a hard worker," she turned over his palm in hers.

 _Yeah, yeah_ , Arthur thought, relaxing. Anyone could look at the slight rough and calloused hands of his and see that he was a hard worker. You could probably tell he was a worker just from looking at his clothes alone. She clearly wasn't a real witch.

"But that's obvious, isn't it?" She flashed her eyes at him with an almost mischievous grin and Arthur felt himself tense up again, suddenly embarrassed as if she had actually read his thoughts. Of course, that was impossible...right?

"Hmm, " she traced the lines of his palms as if reading a map, "oh my, you're about to begin quite the journey of discovery, young man - I do believe perhaps even more than you have bargained for - and we cannot discount that you may not like everything you find."

Arthur tried not to let her ruffle him, remaining silent despite the slight nervous twinge he felt at her words. She went on.

"Yes, you are incredibly lost... and you're path to happiness will not be smooth - you are stubborn, but be sure to be just as stubborn in keeping faith in what fate has in store - giving up on what you truly desire will be futile and only cause you more trouble. You will - oh! Oh my, well would you look at this! - " she looked up at him with eyes shining and her face in a wide grin, "I know who you are boy!"

Arthur could no longer hide his intrigue - he didn't want to take the psychic seriously until that point. It was ridiculous to think so, but it was as if she had uttered the words he had been hoping to hear for the past 5 years.

"What?" Arthur leant in a little, "you do?"

"I've seen you - in the paper - it must have been years ago now - I never forget a face, I don't. You were nothing like now, you were a boy! They said you were dead, child," she nodded at him as if it made sense, " did the trauma do away with it all? They said they all died in the fire...but there were bodies missing. They found the mother and father. Three brothers too - charred to dust, but they were bodies alright. Not one boy though, one boy that'd be just about a man now - or the little one," she was still smiling eagerly but now it felt wrong. Now he didn't want to hear - now this was what he had hidden from for 5 years, he could feel it in his gut. Arthur felt a sensation frighteningly like bile rising in his throat and his cheeks became flushed.

 _Smoke, enough to make you choke, stinging eyes and throat. A woman screaming, blazing pain and quaking fear. Bit his tongue: blood, salty metal - almost pissed himself. Cracking of wood, fanned heat of flames, bundle in his arms - run and don't look back, they won't stop.  
_  
"I-" Arthur's voiced cracked, he blinked and found his eyes were filled with water, "I don't understand."

"Ah, what was the name..." she considered the grain of the table with a hardened frown.

The offbeat piano melody swelled in Arthur's ears, clattering drinks and murmured voices joined it in a drowsy orchestra in his skull. I am going to faint, he thought.

"Oh yes, I remember now!" The old woman's gravel tone scraped against the inside of his head, "I never forget a name, I don't."

Arthur could not decipher the woman's blurt of whatever the name she remembered was. Something -Land? Perhaps it was a place. But he didn't consider it for long: an outcry from the bar sent the smoke billowing from Arthur's mind and leaning from the booth he saw that he had entirely more pressing problems to deal with.

* * *

 **A/N** : Surprise! Here's another chapter because I'm sure there's someone reading this thing thinking 'omg will it ever end' and even though the best is yet to come I wanted to tell anyone who has bravely stuck with this tale that yes, I do plan to end this thing and I am showing you my commitment by doing my best to get chapters out. Hopefully with my next update I can give an update of how many chapters this story will end up being but at the moment I'm thinking it will get to around 30? Maybe less?

I hope I have at least a few hangers on who'll be in it for the long haul!


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